


I Might Be A Fool

by prettylittlementirosa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- Greek, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek, Happy Ending, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Minor Angst, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Underage Drinking, but mostly this is just fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlementirosa/pseuds/prettylittlementirosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Stiles, though, is that for him, turned on and angry are not mutually exclusive feelings. He may be painfully hard but that doesn’t mean he’s not also ready to strangle Derek for having the audacity to act like this is something that’s happening to him, not something that is almost entirely his fault. So when Derek let’s out what must be his hundredth long-suffering sigh, Stiles snaps. </p><p>(or the one that was supposed to be a GRΣΣK AU but is mostly just a study in the gratuitous and inconsistent use of punctuation)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For [Eeames](http://eeames.tumblr.com/) who put the idea in my head.
> 
> GRΣΣK was a show on ABC Family but you don't have to have seen it/have any knowledge of it to follow the story.
> 
> It's basically just a college/frat AU so all the standard warnings for that apply: underage drinking, shenanigans, very light hazing.
> 
> Other warnings: vague mention of past Kate/Derek, minor instance of violence, one instance of possible dub-con via consumption of alcohol (see end notes for more info on these)
> 
> Also, there are background relationships, so if you're super picky about how the other characters are paired up, be warned I guess?
> 
> Just a few more things:
> 
> I incorporated a few lines directly from Teen Wolf just because I think that's fun in AUs- seeing the characters have the same reactions/thoughts but in a completely different setting.
> 
> There's some stuff straight from GRΣΣK that I'll reference in the notes at the end of the chapter just as an FYI?
> 
> I have an extremely difficult time even thinking "Jordan" instead of "Parrish" (it just doesn't sound right, okay) and I caught myself typing "Parrish" more times than I can even count. I think I caught them all but if not, and you're wondering why all of a sudden I'm not referring to him by his first name, that's why. It's just my inability to evolve.
> 
> Title's from "All That We Needed" by Plain White T's (it's basically my anthem for this fic; along with Jefferson Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" because it's been stuck in my head for a week now thanks to the trailer for The Skeleton Twins ughhhhhh)
> 
> I didn't spend much time editing this so I'm sorry for any mistakes/typos/etc.
> 
> I think that's it? Enjoy?

Stiles takes a deep breath in.

He’s standing outside the residence hall that’s going to be his home for the next nine months.

He’s not sure he’s ready for this.

_This_ being his sophomore year at Beacon Hills University.

He’s not ready to be back here yet.

It’s not that freshman year was awful or anything. It just wasn’t what he expected. He thought that everything would change in college- that it would be like the movies- parties every weekend, casual sex, meeting new people and forming lifelong bonds based on the stuff that people teased you for in high school.

Like your extensive knowledge of _Star Wars_ trivia.

Or the history of male circumcision. 

The reality, however, is much different. There are parties (though far tamer than anything Stiles’ ever saw in the movies) and there’s casual sex (surprisingly unsatisfying and mostly just awkward) but making friends is just as hard as it was growing up. The movies lie to you. They are not to be trusted.

People don’t just suddenly find your quirks endearing- even though they totally _are_ endearing- just because you’re living in a dorm room instead of your childhood bedroom. You don’t magically meet people that just _get_ you.

It’s not that Stiles didn’t meet anyone his freshman year; he _did_ , it’s just- he didn’t really meet anybody that became a permanent fixture. He didn’t make any friends that he can see staying in touch with for the rest of his life. There wasn’t anybody he just _clicked_ with.

Not many people can keep up with his thoughts and the way he moves from Point A to Point B to Point Z in under five seconds.

People also tend to mistake his impeccable sense of humor and sarcasm as him being an asshole; which is only true like fifty percent of the time. Seventy-five at most. Some people just can’t handle that.

Except for Lydia Martin, the TA for his Intro to Chem class last year. She is vicious and beautiful and devastatingly brilliant and Stiles thought he could maybe fall in love with her for about five minutes before she shut that down.

But that was a good thing because they ended up being great study partners. Stiles would even say they became friends but he’s not sure that’s true and he thinks Lydia would probably gut him for even thinking that.

Still though, she is the only person he actually kept in touch with over summer and she is the one that talked to him on the phone for two hours after his break-up with Heather. And then again after his drunken night with One Night Stand Guy, who he never saw again.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that there’s gotta be more to this whole college experience. There’s gotta be something he’s missing, some key to finding people that you actually want to be around and that want to be around you.

He didn’t even bond with his roommate last year and that’s supposed to be like a built-in best friend, but that was mostly a personal choice.

Anyways, this is the year that things are going to be different. They have to be. This is the year that he finds his _people_. Somebody is going to recognize his awesomeness and then they are going to wonder how they ever survived without him.

The first step to achieving college greatness: Actually enter the residence hall instead of standing outside staring at it like a weirdo.

\---

Once Stiles finally forces himself to go inside, he goes straight to the Resident Advisor- a nice guy named Jordan- so he can find out what room he’s in and get his key.

Jordan tells him he’s in room two-thirty-eight and that his roommate, Isaac Lahey, is already here.

Stiles has no idea who Isaac Lahey is but whoever he is he has to be a step-up from last year. His roommate, Greenberg, was... well there aren’t really words to describe the experience that was living with Greenberg.

His idea of a good time was playing Bible Boggle. And he left scriptures on Stiles’ pillow, which, you know, _sounds_ like a thoughtful gesture but Stiles is pretty sure that it was more of a judgement of his “heathen, yankee ways.”

Greenberg also hung a confederate flag above his bed. That was a thing that actually happened.

In the 21st century.

At a liberal arts school in Northern California.

And Stiles was the unfortunate soul who got to share a dorm with him.

On top of that, Greenberg thought _Star Wars_ was the work of the devil and told Stiles that he could help cleanse his soul of all it’s evil with an “intensive prayer and vitamin regimen.”

The weirdest thing about him though was that he used a picture of Officer Finstock from campus security as a bookmark for his Bible. Stiles has no idea how or _why_ he had that picture but it was a profoundly disturbing discovery.

Whoever this Isaac Lahey is, he’s pretty much guaranteed to be the Holy Grail of roommates compared to Greenberg.

When Stiles walks into his dorm room, Isaac is already finished unpacking his things. He’s sitting on his bed reading a book. Stiles doesn’t recognize him which is good, means they can start from scratch in building the unshakeable brotherly bond of roommates that he missed out on during freshman year.

Stiles takes note of a rack that has more scarves hanging from it than anyone could ever possibly have use for. There’s a scarf in every color and pattern known to man. There are scarves in colors that Stiles didn’t even know existed.

Seriously, so many scarves.

But no confederate flag. So, vast improvement.

“Hey, you must be Isaac. I’m-”

“Stiles. Yeah I know,” the guy says without looking up from his book. He sounds thoroughly unimpressed with Stiles’ existence which is kind of rude, considering he doesn’t even know him. Stiles is very impressive and this guy is going to miss out on a rare opportunity to… be impressed because he’s so busy being... unimpressed.

Stiles, however, will not be deterred.

“Yeah. It’s nice to meet you, dude,” he tries.

“We’ve already met,” Isaac says, closing his book. “Chem 101. I sat behind you the entire semester.”

So much for starting from scratch.

“Oh, well you must know the back of my head really well then. I have a very distinct-,” Stiles gestures at his head. “You know what, never mind.”

After a moment of awkward silence, he hooks a thumb over his shoulder and says, “I’m gonna start unloading all my crap from my car.”

He does _not_ flee his room. He is not the kind of person who flees. He just... walks out of there very fast. He just needs to regroup. This year is supposed to be the year that changes his life. It has to be. He will figure this out.

He’s just going to get all settled in and then he’s going to make Isaac fall in love with his winning personality. They are going to bond, is what they are going to do.

Stiles is going to bond the shit out of Isaac.

Once he finishes unloading and unpacking all of his things- done mostly in silence and without _any_ help- he decides it’s time to commence with the bonding. He sits down on his bed facing Isaac- who’s gone back to reading his book- and wipes his hands on his thighs, preparing himself to win Isaac over with his excellent wooing skills.

They’re going to be Best Friends Forever dammit.

“So,” he begins, “I see that you don’t have a confederate flag.” And wow, great start, Stilinski. Seriously, top notch.

Isaac just looks up at him over the top of his book and Stiles did not know that much disdain could be conveyed in a single look.

“It’s just that last year I got stuck rooming with this guy who was like the worst roommate ever. Seriously. So awful. And you’re not. So that’s good,” Stiles says.

“Well I guess this year _I’m_ the unlucky guy with the worst roommate ever,” Isaac says, apathetic.

Well this isn’t going so great. Stiles needs to approach this from a different angle. He needs to find something they can bond over, something they have in common.

“Intro to chemistry. That was a good time, huh?” he tries.

“I’m sure it was for you but not all of us had an in with the TA. Some of us actually had to do the work.”

Stiles gapes. He actually gapes. His mouth is agape. Because that is just- that is an outlandish accusation is what that is and he’s not so sure he wants to have an unshakeable bond with someone who would make such ridiculous claims.

Isaac scratches his chin. “I asked her out once. She laughed at me and told me to come back when I traded in my dorm room for a yacht on the Riviera.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and purses his lips. “Sounds like the beginning of a heartfelt story, but I’m gonna pass.”

“My point is she’s a spoiled brat,” Isaac says and yeah, the unshakeable bond is definitely a no-go. Stiles is officially done with the wooing.

He grabs his jacket and phone and says, “It’s been a delight chatting with you, Isaac, but I think I’m gonna go now.”

Isaac just goes back to reading his book, completely unperturbed.

Stiles doesn’t know where he’s going to go; he just knows he needs to get out of there. He almost misses Greenberg.

Almost.

He starts to wander around campus aimlessly. First he goes by the Student Union. There’s a surprising amount of people there considering classes haven’t started and he doesn’t really feel like being alone in a crowd of people. If he’s going to be alone, he’d rather actually _be alone._

He starts walking again and ends up at the Student Recreation Center. It doesn’t look like it’s even open but he’s never been inside and he’s curious so he tries one of the doors anyways. It’s not locked.

He walks inside and is immediately taken by how big it is. Straight in front of him is a long counter that he assumes is the front desk but there’s nobody there. In fact, there’s nobody anywhere. The place is completely deserted.

Perfect time to explore.

Behind the counter is a series of faux-rock walls for climbing but falling to his death with nobody around to witness it is not the kind of exploring he wants to do so he steers clear of them.

There’s a sign that informs him that the courts and studios are to the right and the pool and indoor jogging track are to the left. He goes left.

He tries the door for the pool but it’s locked. That makes sense. School doesn’t technically start for a few more days so there’s probably not a lifeguard on duty.

It’s also possible that he’s just not supposed to be in here at all but he’s going to pretend like that’s not true. Instead he follows the signs for the track.

The track turns out to be exactly what it sounds like- an indoor jogging track. It’s a huge oval loop, about seven lanes deep, surrounding a patch of green in the middle. Off to one side are bleachers.

Stiles walks to the middle of the track where the green is. When he steps on it, it gives and he looks down.

It’s fake grass, which he thinks is a little ridiculous. This track is _inside_. Anybody who’s expecting there to be grass kind of deserves to be disappointed.

He lays down on his back anyway, spreads his arms and legs out wide and stares up at the ceiling.

He’s imagining that one of the lights overhead is the sun when someone yells, “What the hell are you doing in here?” startling him. He does _not_ scream, no matter what anyone says, but he does hurry to his feet.

Once he’s standing he sees that the voice came from a guy- a devastatingly gorgeous guy that looks like he was ripped straight out of every wet dream that Stiles has ever had- standing under the archway that connects the track to the rest of the building.

He’s wearing grey basketball shorts and nothing else and _dear god_ that should be illegal. He has muscles that Stiles didn’t even know existed.

And _his face._ Stiles is pretty sure that in the dictionary next to the word “chiseled” is a picture of this guy’s face. Covering his spectacular bone structure is a layer of stubble that really only adds to his overall aesthetic (that aesthetic being sex-on-legs). It goes well with his dark hair and light eyes, which are accented by a pair of eyebrows that Stiles might describe as truly _majestic_ if they weren’t so far up the guy’s forehead that they were in danger of becoming one with his hair.

He does not look happy.

“Uh sorry there was nobody at the front,” Stiles proffers.

“So you thought you’d what? Just come in and roll around in the grass?” the guy barks. Which, rude. And frankly, Stiles is kind of done with people treating him like he’s carried out some great injustice simply by existing today.

“It’s not like I was even doing anything,” he says.

“Except breaking and entering.”

“Breaking and-? Dude, the door was open,” Stiles says, incredulous.

“And? Is the grass outside not good enough?” the guy asks condescendingly.

“Okay, what is your obsession with the grass?” Stiles snaps. “Was it imported from some sacred temple of the astroturf gods? Is it your job to make sure it’s the perfect shade of artificial green so no poor unsuspecting student gets confused and thinks they’re outside?”

The guy doesn’t answer him, just grits his teeth and says, “Just get out.”

Stiles obeys, mostly because he is very much over being _angrily eyebrow-ed at_ by such an unfairly attractive face, and not at all because the guy looks like he could snap Stiles in half.

As he passes him on the way out, he can’t help but mutter, “Sorry for invading your personal lawn space.”

The guy rolls his eyes.

 ---

After getting kicked out of the Rec Center, Stiles doesn’t feel like going back to his dorm just yet. Instead he walks some more and ends up at a part of campus he’s never been to before. He’s pretty sure this is where all the fraternity and sorority houses are.

Which is perfect actually.

Lydia is the president of one of the sororities- something with a Z in it- and if anyone’ll know how to help him with his total inability to have an actual life with other people that are capable of human interaction, it’s her.

Luckily, all the houses have their Greek letters displayed for everyone to see on the front of the house and there’s only one with a Z on it- ZBZ- so that’s where he goes. He rings the doorbell and waits.

A tall girl with dark brown hair and a fair complexion answers the door. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Lydia Martin.”

“Lydia, there’s someone at the door for you,” she calls over her shoulder.

When she turns back to him she’s smiling with what may be the most adorable dimples he’s ever seen. He kind of wants to pinch her cheeks but he gets the feeling that she could kick his ass and he doesn’t think that getting his ass kicked by a sorority sister is the best way to make himself feel better about the events of the day.

Plus, that would probably be a really weird and inappropriate thing to do to a stranger.

When Lydia finally comes to the door she looks surprised, and maybe a little bit annoyed, to see him. “Stiles. What are you doing here?”

“I’m failing at college,” he pouts.

She arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow at him and says, “Classes haven’t even begun. How did you already manage to screw up?”

“Not like that,” he explains. “I mean I’m failing at the whole college experience.” He waves his hands in a gesture that he hopes conveys _the whole college experience_ that he’s referring to.

Lydia just rolls her eyes and opens the door for him to step inside.

“It’s not that hard, Stiles. Just find some people who like the same things you do and just have fun,” she says simply.

“Oh just have fun. Why didn’t I think of that?” he deadpans.

“Look, Stiles. I don’t have time to hold your hand and walk you through how to have a social life right now. I’m trying to prepare for rush. It’s my first major event as ZBZ president and it has to go perfectly,” she says.

“Rush?”

“Yes, rush. The time when the freshmen decide which fraternity or sorority they want to be in and we decide which freshmen we want to accept. I want the _best_ freshmen for ZBZ, Stiles, and I only have a couple of hours left to finish preparing so that everything goes perfectly.”

Stiles contemplates this. He doesn’t really know anything about Greek life, never even thought about it. It’s always just been something that existed over _here_ while he was existing over _there_. But now that he thinks about it, all the movies about awesome college experiences typically involve frat parties. He doesn’t know why he never thought of it before. It’s so obvious.

“Do you have to be a freshman to rush or can anyone do it?” he asks.

She thinks for a second. “I suppose anyone who’s a student can do it, but I’ve never seen it happen.”

She turns to walk away, a clear dismissal, but before she can get far Stiles says, “I’m going to join a fraternity, Lydia!”

She stops dead in her tracks, whips back around and says, “No.”

“What? Why not? You just told me to go have fun.”

“I meant join a Star Wars Club or find some kids to play Dungeons and Dragons with,” she says.

“Okay first of all I’m sensing some hostility for _Star War_ s in your tone which is just really uncalled for, okay. And second, Dungeons and Dragons? Seriously? I thought we were at least on the road to becoming friends.”

“We are friends, Stiles, which is exactly why I’m telling you not to do this.”

“Look Lydia, I just met my roommate and though he did not lecture me on preserving my virtue, he did emote very murderous vibes in my general direction for a good three hours and not-so-subtly imply that he hates me. There were also a lot of scarves which I find _deeply_ unsettling. I just want to meet people that I actually enjoy being around, you know? People that don’t want to murder me in my sleep.”

“I get it, Stiles. I just don’t think you understand what you’re getting yourself into,” she says.

“There were scarves, Lydia, so many scarves,” he pleads.

“It’s your funeral,” she warns.

\--- 

Stiles is standing with a group of about fifteen freshmen boys waiting for rush night to begin. He is one-hundred percent certain he’s the only sophomore in this group. Everyone else is dressed to impress in button-up shirts with collars, and slacks; some of them are even wearing ties. They’re obviously new to college. Nobody who’s been through a finals week worries about stuff like looking presentable anymore.

In one of his lectures last year a kid showed up wearing sweats with two perfectly round holes cut out- one on each butt cheek- covered in dirt from head to toe, with his feet dyed blue.

Nobody said a word.

That’s why Stiles is in jeans, a graphic tee and a plaid shirt. He almost feels bad for these freshmen. They probably think they still need to get permission to use the restroom. They’ll learn soon enough.

Stiles is getting bored waiting around for rush to begin. When he gets bored, he gets antsy, and when he gets antsy, he starts fidgeting.

“You nervous?” the guy standing next to him asks. Stiles turns his head to answer and wow is this guy tall. Stiles has to tilt his head back a little just to look at his face. It’s a nice face. A little serious but definitely not mean.

“Nah, just not a fan of waiting around. You?”

“Not really,” he shakes his head.

“I’m Stiles,” Stiles offers his hand.

“Boyd.” He has a firm grip. Makes sense. His arm is basically the size of Stiles’ head.

This is going better than Stiles expected. He’s already met somebody- a potential lifelong brother!- who does not want to convert or murder him. Rushing a fraternity was an excellent decision.

“Alright listen up,” a guy calls from the front of the group. “Tonight you’re going to be visiting all ten houses. You’ll have some time at each house to meet the brothers so if you have any letters of recommendation, make sure you have them out.”

All around Stiles, people start pulling letters out.

“Save them until we get to the house of your first choice.”

“Letters of recommendation to be able to attend toga parties? Seriously?” Stiles asks Boyd in a whisper.

“They’re not required,” Boyd says, though he’s holding one. “They’re more like an unspoken necessity.”

Great. Now Stiles is nervous.

The first house they go to is the Lambda Sigs. Stiles can tell the minute they walk in that this is not the house for him. This is a house for future pro-athletes and guys who wear polo shirts with popped collars. He’d be willing to bet that they have a stock-pile of hair gel in here somewhere.

Next to him, Boyd is chatting up one of the brothers, asking about their legacy of athletic accomplishment and detailing his all-star high school sports career. Stiles kind of zones out for some of it.

When he brings his attention back, Boyd is explaining how he’s planning on focusing on sports medicine. Stiles hasn’t even picked a major yet. He’s beginning to wonder if he’s just a failure at college and life in general and not just the making friends part; but that’s an existential crisis best had on the shower floor where nobody can see his tears so he pushes it to the back of his mind.

The next house is filled with the most objectively attractive people Stiles has ever seen. There are high cheek bones and angular jawlines and so much facial symmetry that Stiles wonders if he’s stepped into some alternate universe where 3D printers are used to create a society of people free of physical imperfections. It’s kind of unnerving, but just like at the first house, Boyd seems perfectly at ease.

“In high school I did an ad for Calvin Klein International. It ran mostly in Europe,” Boyd says to one of the brothers. It makes sense. Boyd is a good-looking guy. He’d fit in just fine here.

“So what made you decide to come to Beacon Hills University, Boyd?” one of the brothers asks.

“They wanted me to do a spread that would run in the states but I turned it down to study communications.”

Communications? Stiles distinctly remembers him saying he wanted to focus on sports medicine. Maybe he’s planning to double major. He seems the type- a star athlete and an international model.

Definitely ambitious.

Stiles is starting to feel suffocated by his own mediocrity.

When they walk into the next house, his spirits are instantly lifted. It’s clearly a Jewish fraternity and Stiles is pretty sure he has the edge here. He’s not a _practicing_ Jew- he’s actually only half Jewish- but nobody needs to know that. It’s his turn to impress the brothers. Boyd has been showing him up all night.

He’s all ready to show-off the very little Hebrew he remembers from his mom, when Boyd pulls out a Yamaka, places it on his head and says, “Shalom” to the brother who’s come to greet them.

Stiles stares at him in astonishment and remains that way for the duration of their time at the house.

When they’re leaving, Stiles grabs Boyd’s arm and says, “Dude, are you really Jewish?”

Boyd gives him a look that can only be interpreted as _you can’t be that stupid._

“What the hell, man?” Stiles asks.

“It’s college. Nobody knows you here. You can be anyone you want.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “And you want to be Jewish?”

“Maybe,” says Boyd simply.

When Stiles raises his eyebrows, Boyd sighs and says, “High school wasn’t a good time for me. I wasn’t popular and I didn’t have any friends. I was the kid who ate lunch alone everyday. I don’t want to be that person here.”

Stiles takes a moment to consider that. How does a guy like Boyd not have any friends? He’s clearly smart and has actual social skills. Plus, he’s good-looking and more importantly, he’s nice. He’s the kind of person Stiles would want as a friend- _does_ want as a friend.

“I’m a sophomore,” he blurts out and Boyd stares at him like he’s grown two heads.

“I’m not a freshman,” Stiles explains. “My freshman year sucked. Well it didn’t _suck_. It just- it wasn’t great, you know? It was anti-climatic and pretty much just a continuation of high school and I wanted something more. Something exciting. So a few hours ago I decided to rush.”

“That explains the plaid.”

“Screw you, dude, you had a Yamaka,” Stiles laughs and bumps his shoulder with Boyd’s.

“I came prepared,” Boyd smiles back.

They try on a slew of different personalities at the next several houses, even using fake accents- Stiles a Scottish and Boyd an Australian- at one house that they _know_ they have no interest of joining (no place should have that many ceramic cat figurines; it’s not normal).

By the time they get to the second to last house, Stiles is feeling kind of disappointed by the whole fraternity thing. None of the houses really seem like the place for him and the only reason he even enjoyed himself at all tonight was because of Boyd. Maybe Lydia was right. Maybe the fraternity thing isn’t for him.

When they get to the front door of the house, Boyd takes a deep breath in. He looks nervous for the first time all night.

“You okay?” Stiles asks.

Boyd nods. “My dad was an Omega Chi which makes me a legacy. It’s kind of important that I don’t screw this one up.”

“Oh. Well, just be yourself,” Stiles jokes and Boyd pushes him inside.

It’s nice inside, the nicest house they’ve been to so far- devoid of ceramic figurines of any kind.

The brothers look nice too, if a little bored. Stiles can’t blame them. Shmoozing people while listening to them recite a check list of their accomplishments isn’t exactly what Stiles would call fun.

They’re mostly good-looking but not in a creepy, unnatural way. Some of them look like they could be athletes but they’re not all built like olympic swimmers. There’s a good diversity here that he didn’t see at any of the other houses. Their common thread must be something like awesomeness. And Stiles is pretty awesome. This might be the place for him. Excitement is starting to replace his disappointment.

Until he sees _him_. The smoking-hot-but-unnecessarily-uptight-about-fake-grass guy from earlier. He’s wearing decidedly more clothes, which is a shame, but he also doesn’t look quite so grumpy. It’s kind of strange seeing his eyebrows where they’re supposed to be, not trying to escape from his face.

Stiles is glaring moodily in his direction- still angry about earlier- when the guy spots him. His eyes narrow and he makes a bee-line for Stiles. He looks like he’s going to yell some more.

Stiles is preparing his own verbal attack when Boyd holds out his hand to the guy and says, “Vernon Boyd III. My dad was an Omega Chi.”

The guy stops in front of them. He shifts his eyes from Stiles to Boyd, notices the hand Boyd is holding out and takes it. “Derek Hale,” he- Derek- says.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Boyd says earnestly. It’s a little jarring after seeing him so comfortable and sure of himself all night.

“So you’re a legacy, Vernon?” Derek asks.

“Call me Boyd. And yes, I’m a legacy. I’ve dreamt about being in Omega Chi since I was a kid.”

Derek nods once and smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Stiles didn’t think the guy even knew how to smile, figured smiling was kind of impossible when there’s a gigantic stick shoved up your ass.

“And who’s your friend, Boyd?” Derek shifts his attention back to Stiles and the look in his eyes is lethal.

Stiles swallows audibly, uncomfortable under Derek’s scrutiny.

“Uh this is Stiles,” Boyd answers.

“Is Stiles a legacy?” Derek asks, his eyes still on Stiles.

“No,” Boyd says slowly.

“And why is Stiles wearing-” his eyes drift down to Stiles’ chest, then back up to his face, “plaid?”

Before Boyd can answer, Stiles cuts in.

“Stiles is right here and is perfectly capable of speaking for himself.”

Derek raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“I’m wearing plaid because I’m a special fucking snowflake, asshole,” Stiles spits out.

He swears he sees the corners of Derek’s mouth tug up before he schools his expression back to one of _I’m trying to melt you with my mind_.

“He didn’t mean that,” Boyd interjects.

“Yes he did,” Stiles and Derek say at the same time without taking their eyes off of each other.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles can see Boyd shifting uncomfortably and he feels bad, he really does. This is important to Boyd and Stiles wants to support him, wants to make a good impression on him, but he also doesn’t want to back down. In fact, he kind of wants to make Derek Hale cry.

Stiles doesn’t know how long they stand there with their eyes locked on one another but it must be awhile because the guy in charge is already saying, “Alright. Time’s up. On to the last house.”

Without looking away from Stiles, Derek says, “Don’t worry, Boyd, your poor taste in friends won’t hurt you. You’re a legacy. You’re guaranteed a bid.” He looks Stiles up and down once and then turns around and walks away.

Stiles just stands there watching him go until Boyd pulls him by the arm and asks, “What the hell was that?”

“That,” Stiles explains, “was the world’s biggest douche bag.”

“And why does the world’s biggest douche bag have it out for you?”

“I laid on his grass. It’s a long story.”

“Sure it is,” Boyd says and he doesn’t sound mad, which is good. Stiles would probably be mad. Boyd is definitely a better person than he is.

When they arrive at the last house, the guy in charge clears his throat and says, “This is it. I’ll uh see you later. Good luck,” and scampers off. Stiles is just about to ask Boyd if he seemed a little shifty when the front door creaks open.

Hesitantly, the rushees walk in.

Inside the house it’s mostly dark. They’re standing in an empty foyer.

Above them on the second floor, a girl wearing leggings with Marvel superheroes on them (excellent taste, Stiles notes) is leaning against the bannister. She’s holding what looks like a katana in her hands.

Stiles squints his eyes and yep, that is definitely a katana. He thinks that he should probably be a little scared but mostly he’s just intrigued. He’s never had the best survival instincts.

Once everyone’s inside, she starts talking.

“I’m Kira Yukimura, Rush Chair,” she says as the katana falls from her hands and lands on the floor, the point of the blade stabbing the wooden floorboards and the handle sticking straight up.

“Oops,” she giggles.

Stiles barely has time to process that _that_ just happened and that apparently this is a coed fraternity before she starts speaking again.

“Raise your hand if you know about our reputation.”

Stiles looks behind him and nearly everyone has their hand raised. Boyd’s hands are still at his sides though. At least Stiles isn’t the only one.

“Great. All of you raising your hands, get out,” she continues. When nobody moves she yells, “Now!” and starts to walk down the stairs.

Everyone with their hand up scurries out. The only ones left are Stiles, Boyd and a guy that looks like he stepped straight out of an Abercrombie ad and who Stiles is pretty sure he overheard telling a brother at one of the other houses he drives a Porsche.

“Come with me,” she says to them and leads them down a hall with a door at the end. It’s suspiciously quiet and Stiles is starting to wonder where the rest of the brothers (sisters? how does that work?) are.

When they get to the door she yells, “Incoming!” before throwing it open to reveal what must be the backyard where a crowd of people stand. A burst of cheers and applause erupts and music starts playing.

It’s a party.

“Welcome to Kappa Tau,” Kira says before skipping off to join the party.

Stiles looks at Boyd, who just shrugs and says, “I’m gonna get a drink” before walking over to where a guy with dark hair and dimples is filling red cups with beer from a keg and handing them out.

There are people everywhere, laughing and having a good time. There’s a crowd dancing over by where the music is blaring from some speakers to his right. To his left he sees no less than five people laying on tables with their shirts pulled up to expose their navels, letting other people pour and lick lines of salt off of them before downing shots of tequila. 

He’s taking it all in when someone comes up from behind and slings an arm over his shoulders.

“Hey, I’m Scott, president of the KTs. Sorry if we scared you in there but this is kind of against the rules so we gotta keep a low profile.” He’s wearing the most earnest look Stiles has ever seen in his entire life on his face and Stiles immediately feels like he wants to make him proud. He has no idea why. There’s just something about this guy- maybe the way his jaw is uneven and his smile is lopsided- that makes Stiles want to befriend him.

“It’s totally cool, dude,” he smiles back.

“What’s your name?” Scott asks.

“Stiles.”

“Welcome to Kappa Tau, Stiles. Let’s get you a drink,” Scott says and guides him over to the keg.

The guy with the dimples hands him a red cup.

“This is Danny, our Social Chair. Danny, this is Stiles,” Scott introduces them.

“Welcome to Kappa Tau, Stiles,” Danny raises his own cup and Stiles and Scott follow suit. 

“Bottoms up,” Scott says and together the three of them chug down their beers.

Stiles has a huge grin on his face, probably looks like a nerd, but he can’t help it. He spends the next couple of hours drinking, making references to movies from the eighties that usually go over most people’s heads but that Scott seems to find entertaining, and having more fun than he can ever remember having.

Something about this feels easy in a way that socializing never has for him. He feels like he already has these people’s acceptance, like he doesn’t have to work to impress them or try to be somebody he’s not.

He feels like he’s… home.

At one point Porsche Guy bumps into _him_ and has the nerve to snap, “Watch where you’re going, loser.”

Before Stiles can even register what just happened, Scott says, “Chill out, man. No beer was spilled. It’s all good.”

“This is Hugo Boss,” Porsche Guy bites back, holding out his tie. “It probably costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Stiles asks but before Porsche Douche can respond, Kira is there, lifting him up in a fireman’s carry- and how is that even possible? She can’t be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. But she’s doing it and it’s _awesome_.

As she’s carrying him out, she punches one of her fists into the air and yells, “KTs never say die!” and everyone cheers.

Yeah, Stiles has definitely found his people.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight outta GRΣΣK:
> 
> Roommate with a confederate flag who played Bible Boggle and said things like "heathen yankee ways" and "intensive prayer and vitamin regimen" (yeah I'm talking about Dale)
> 
> Someone showing up to class wearing sweats with two perfectly round holes cut out- one on each butt cheek- covered in dirt from head to toe, with his feet dyed blue (Rusty after being the first pledge to fall asleep)
> 
> Letters of rec not being required but being an "unspoken necessity" (Calvin to Rusty)
> 
> "Shalom" (Calvin)
> 
> Dropping the katana to scare off the rushees that've heard about Kappa Tau (Wade with the cleaver)
> 
> And yes, that was a Goonies reference.


	2. Chapter 2

“Is this a trap? Is he trying to lure me into a false sense of security before he strikes?” Stiles asks Boyd from where he’s sitting on his bed.

Boyd just stares back at Stiles and bites into a granola bar.

“Why else would I get a bid from Omega Chi? The only person this could be from is Derek. I didn’t even talk to any of the other brothers.”

Stiles looks down at the invitation in his hand and reads it again.

 

We, the Brothers of

Omega Chi Delta fraternity,

cordially extend to

Stiles Stilinski

an invitation to join our brotherhood

 

It’s on that fancy stock paper that people use for wedding invitations and it has the official Omega Chi seal. On the back there’s directions to Berserkers- the on-campus sports bar- saying that if he wants to accept the bid and pledge Omega Chi, he should be there at seven-thirty tonight. It was slipped under his door sometime during the night.

He also got a yellow sticky note that says

 

KT HOUSE 

8pm

-SCOTT

 

with a happy face on it.

There was also a bid from the creepy ceramic cat fraternity. Stiles shudders at the thought of spending another minute with those guys.

“He came by to hand-deliver mine this morning,” Boyd offers. “Said he wanted to apologize for the other night. He’s actually kind of nice.”

“You’re a legacy. He has to be nice to you.”

“No. His fraternity has to offer me a bid,” Boyd corrects. “There’s no rule that says the brothers have to like me.”

“I like you,” Stiles grumbles.

“You’re not my type,” Boyd says easily and Stiles brings a hand to his chest, let’s his mouth fall open in mock outrage.

“So what are you going to do?” Boyd asks, ignoring Stiles’ theatrics.

“Pledge Kappa Tau, obviously; and for the record, I think accepting Omega Chi’s bid is a terrible mistake,” Stiles says.

“Thanks for the concern.”

“Anytime.”

After a moment of silence, Stiles asks, “You’re still gonna do it, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

\---

Stiles has every intention of just forgetting about Derek and the Omega Chi bid, he really does. He got a bid from Kappa Tau and that’s all that matters- there’s no doubt in his mind that he belongs there, that those guys could actually be his brothers. He could probably pilot a Jaeger with Scott and drift compatibility is not something you take for granted.

_But._

He’s still a Stilinski and therefore unable to let anything go. He just wants to find out _why_ Derek offered him a bid. It doesn’t make any sense. Even Stiles, who is one-hundred percent aware of his own awesomeness, wouldn’t have offered him a bid if he were in Derek’s position.

He showed up to rush wearing plaid (which, plaid is awesome, okay, but apparently it’s also a crime against humanity if you’re in the Greek system); he mouthed off to a brother; and most importantly, Derek knows nothing about him. Stiles isn’t even sure how Derek knew his last name or where to deliver the bid but that’s a level of stalker-dom from the guy who tried to glare him to death twice in the same day that he’d rather not dwell on.

The point is there’s a reason Derek offered him a bid and he wants- nay, he _needs_ \- to know what that reason is. It’ll only take a few minutes. He’ll just go to Berserkers, ask Derek why, politely decline the bid, and then he’ll be out of there.

What’s the worst that could happen?

\---

It turns out the worst that could happen is Stiles sprinting across campus with a wooden pledge paddle he stole from Derek while a group of Omega Chi pledges chase him down. He’s not sure if Boyd is one of those pledges but he doesn’t think turning around to look is a good idea. The only thing that matters right now is getting to the Kappa Tau house where hopefully he’ll be given refuge and Scott won’t rescind his bid. 

Half-way down the street from the house he starts yelling, “Scott!” as loud as he can.

Scott is just opening the door to see what the commotion is when Stiles finally makes it. He runs straight inside and slams the door shut behind him.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks and Stiles just nods, unable to produce words. He’s bent over with one hand on his knee and the other clutching the piece of wood he was running with to his chest, wheezing as he tries to get air in his lungs and return his heart rate to normal.

He’s also drenched in sweat. Great.

Somebody he doesn’t know but recognizes from the rush party hands him a bottle of water and he gulps it down.

“Is that the Omega Chi pledge paddle?” Danny asks.

Stiles winces.

“Dude,” Scott says. He sounds impressed. “How’d you get it?”

“Uhh I may have borrowed it,” Stiles manages.

“Borrowed?”

“Stole. After I hit Derek Hale in the face with it.”

“Awesome!” Scott says and then quickly adds, “Not the hitting part. I totally don’t condone violence.”

Then people are clapping him on the back and giving him high-fives and in all the commotion he completely forgets to check what happened to the Omega Chi pledges who were chasing him.

Scott doesn’t seem to need an explanation for why Stiles was at the Omega Chi’s pledge night or why he hit Derek in the face with his own pledge paddle. He just accepts it- like he trusts that Stiles had a good reason and he’s going to have his back no matter what. Stiles has never had that before. It’s nice.

The rest of the night is used to welcome the new pledges and then to play laser tag (because of course the KTs have their own laser tag equipment) as a sort of celebration.

\---

By the time Stiles gets back to his dorm room, it’s one in the morning and he’s exhausted. Isaac is already asleep which is a good thing. The less they have to interact, the better. He slips out of his shoes and strips off his jeans, fully expecting to be out by the time his head hits the pillow.

Once he’s laying down though, he can’t seem to shut off his brain. He keeps replaying the night over and over.

His thoughts keep coming back to Derek. He thinks about the look of surprise on Derek’s face when Stiles walked into Berserkers; the way he crossed his arms and tried to look away when they made eye contact.

He thinks about Derek clearing his throat as Stiles walked over to him; about the way Derek furrowed his eyebrows when Stiles held the Omega Chi bid up to him and asked what it was about.

He thinks about the way Derek scowled at Porsche Douche- or Jackson, supposedly- when he said, “You gave this loser a bid? I thought Omega Chi was supposed to be the number one house on campus.”

He thinks about how Derek kept his eyes on Stiles while saying, “He’s a special fucking snowflake, Jackson,” without missing a beat.

He thinks about how Derek didn’t look away; not for any of the insults Jackson spewed or any of the quips Stiles threw back; not even when the shoving began

He thinks about the pledge paddle that was sitting on the bar, about the way he grabbed it without thinking and swung.

He thinks about how he meant to hit Jackson and the look of shock on Derek’s face right before the pledge paddle connected with it.

He thinks about how the entire bar fell into stunned silence just before he took off running.

He thinks about how maybe the bid was a peace offering and that now he’ll never know.

\---

The next morning he’s woken up by someone swatting him in the face with a rolled-up newspaper.

“Go away,” he mumbles and turns to pull the covers over his head.

“Wake up, Stiles. It’s a beautiful day,” he hears Isaac say in a chipper tone. Isaac is not a chipper person. It’s disconcerting. Stiles isn’t ready to face the world yet though so he stays under the warmth of his covers and makes a mental note to be disconcerted later, after there’s caffeine in his system.

Isaac, however, continues to talk; it sounds like he’s reading from something. Stiles tries to ignore him and go back to sleep but when he hears, “The extent of current Zeta Beta Zeta president Lydia Martin’s involvement is unknown,” he shoots straight up.

Isaac has a smug grin on his face as he tosses a newspaper at Stiles.

The front page reads ‘ _Corruption in the Greek System’ by D. Orestes_.

“What the hell is this?” Stiles asks.

“Justice,” Isaac suggests.

Stiles begins reading the article; it’s a scathing piece about the supposed lengths the Greeks will go to in order to maintain their status on campus and get special privileges. It mentions several supposed inter-Greek rivalries, including one between Kappa Tau and Omega Chi.

The meat of the article, however, is about former ZBZ president, Kate Argent, and the things she allegedly did during her time as president to ensure ZBZ’s spot as the number one sorority on campus. 

Bribery. Manipulation. Blackmail. It’s all in there. It even claims she seduced an unidentified Omega Chi pledge whose family had influence with the university’s Board of Trustees.

Lydia was the pledge Kate Argent chose as her little sister during her presidency, even though herown niece was also a pledge, which apparently raises doubts about Lydia’s character.

Stiles runs both his hands through his hair

“Who the hell is this D. Orestes anyway?” he asks.

“If you find out, let me know,” Isaac says. “I’d like to shake their hand.”

“Are you really going to hold on to the fact that Lydia turned you down once for the rest of your life?”

Isaac smirks. “I just enjoy watching you freak out.”

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles says as he grabs his phone to look at the time. Ten-fifteen. It’s the first day of classes and he has an eleven o’clock lecture. Sighing he throws the covers off his legs and gets up to go shower. He’ll have to deal with this later.

\---

He calls Lydia as he’s walking to his first class.

She answers after the first ring. “ _What?_ ”

“I saw the article. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“ _Why wouldn’t I be okay? Because some moron wrote a scathing article about something someone who doesn’t even go to school here anymore did two years ago and now my reputation and the reputation of ZBZ is on the line?_ ”

“Yes?”

“ _I don’t have time to not be okay, Stiles. I have a sorority to run and a reputation to restore. I’m not about to let some stupid wannabe journalist ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for. I am the president of the best sorority on campus and I intend to stay the president of the best sorority on campus._ ”

“That’s the spirit!”

“ _Bite me_ ,” she says and hangs up.

\---

After class, Stiles decides to treat himself to a latte from one of the coffee carts that are scattered all over campus. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even two o’clock yet. He still has another class he has to sit through.

Once he has the coffee, he finds a bench to sit down on and pulls out his phone. There’s a new text from Scott that says

**KT House tmrw @4pm**

He makes a mental note of it and puts his phone away. When he looks up he sees Boyd walking over with his own coffee in hand. Stiles hasn’t talked to him since everything happened last night and he wonders just how pissed Boyd is, wonders if they’re even still friends.

Boyd sits down next to him. He doesn’t say anything. Just takes a sip of his coffee and looks forward.

Stiles clears his throat. “Did you see the article?” he asks.

“Yep.”

“That can’t be good for the houses on campus.”

“Nope.”

“There’s probably going to be some fall-out.”

“Yep.”

They sit there for a few minutes, not saying anything and not looking at each other, while Stiles tries and fails miserably to not fidget nervously. He’s trying to find the words to apologize to Boyd for messing up another one of his Omega Chi experiences when Boyd breaks the silence.

“So. You hit Derek with a pledge paddle.”

“I was aiming for Jackson,” Stiles offers.

“And then you took off running.”

“Wasn’t really in the mood to get murdered.”

“With the pledge paddle,” Boyd finishes.

“In my defense, that was not my plan,” Stiles says. He thinks this is probably where Boyd tells him they can’t be friends anymore. He’s bracing for it when Boyd just starts laughing.

“Only you, Stiles,” he shakes his head. Stiles is so relieved that he starts laughing too.

“I’ve never ran so fast in my life,” he says.

“Yeah the pledges gave up chasing you after like a minute.”

“What?” Stiles squawks indignantly. “I sprinted all the way to the KT house!”

Boyd starts laughing again. “Kinda serves you right. What were you even doing at Berserkers anyway?”

“I just wanted to ask Derek why he gave me a bid,” Stiles replies.

“And instead you hit him with his own pledge paddle?”

“I’m going to have to watch my back for the rest of my college career, aren’t I?” Stiles groans. “I should probably just transfer to a new school- one far, far away. Somewhere on the east coast maybe.”

“I don’t think Derek’s even that mad.”

“Of course he is. He sent a group of pledges after me.”

“Actually, that was Ethan,” Boyd corrects.

“Whatever. He still hates me,” Stiles waves a hand in dismissal then changes the subject. “So who’s this D. Orestes?” He doesn’t really want to talk about Derek anymore.

“Pen name.”

“And nobody knows who it is?”

“The Omega Chi brothers think it’s somebody from ZBZ.”

“What?” Stiles asks, incredulous. “Why would somebody _from_ ZBZ write that stuff _about_ ZBZ? Makes no sense.”

Boyd shrugs. “They say only someone on the inside could know about all of that.”

“So it’s true then?”

“Apparently.”

“I wonder who the pledge was. Do you think he’s still in Omega Chi?” 

Boyd gives him a withering look and stands up. “I have class in fifteen. Try not to accidentally terrorize any more of my brothers.” 

\---

When Stiles arrives at Kappa Tau the next day, Danny hands him a blue gift bag and says, “Don’t open it yet.”

Stiles takes the bag and sits on the couch in the living room with the other pledges (all holding their own gift bags).

Once all the pledges have arrived and are seated, the pledge sitting next to him- Mason (Stiles remembers him from laser tag)- asks, “Is this about the article?”

“It’s not about the article,” Scott replies.

“I heard Panhellenic is sending a representative from nationals,” says one of the other pledges.

“The fraternities on campus answer to the IFC, not Panhellenic. They’re here for ZBZ, not us,” Danny says.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Scott adds. “We asked you guys to come for a different reason.”

He looks to Danny who pushes off the wall he was leaning against and says, “The reason you’re here today is to find out who’s chosen you as their little brother. Gifts aren’t required but it’s a tradition we’re fond of here at Kappa Tau.”

Kira giggles and Danny elbows her. Stiles still isn’t sure what the deal is with her. She’s the only girl and he’s pretty sure that Kappa Tau isn’t actually a coed fraternity. He decides it doesn’t really matter anyway because she is awesome and the only one who’s caught his _Star Wars_ references thus far.

“Well,” Scott says after a moment, “Open them!”

Stiles shoves his hand into the bag and pulls out a rolled up wad of neon pink fabric. It feels like nylon, like the kind of material used for bathing suits. He unrolls it and yep, that is definitely a speedo.

He looks around at the other pledges who are also holding up speedos in a variety of different colors; they all have the same confused and slightly terrified look on their faces.

Stiles turns his over. Across the ass it says, “Scott’s Lil Bro.”

He looks up at Scott to see him grinning earnestly at him. Stiles can’t even find it in him to be wary of the speedo. He’s so happy that Scott chose him, out of all the pledges, that he just laughs and says, “Thanks, dude.”

Scott grins even wider.

“Are we supposed to wear these?” Mason asks. His is purple and says “Danny’s Lil Bro.” 

“Of course. You don’t want to get your clothes wet, do you?” Scott replies and it actually sounds sincere.

The pledges look at him, confused.

“Oh right. We forgot to tell you that part,” Scott says. “Your first task as pledges is to wash all of the brothers’ cars out front.”

“Wearing your new KT apparel,” Danny adds.

“Gotta show that KT pride!” Kira says, then bursts into laughter.

After a moment of silence from the pledges, Mason says, “It’s a good thing purple brings out the color of my eyes” and heads for the bathroom to change.

“Pink is my favorite color,” Stiles says and follows. He will not be deterred by a little hazing. He is going to wear the fuck out of that speedo.

\---

Eventually all of the pledges put on their speedos and head outside, where the brothers are sitting in lawn chairs. Luckily not all of them have cars so this should only take a couple of hours. Stiles fills up a bucket with soap and water and gets to work.

He’s squatting to scrub the insects off the front license plate on one of the cars when he hears Mason say, “What are they doing here?”

Stiles looks up and follows Mason’s gaze straight to where Derek and Ethan are walking up to the house.

_Shit_.

Derek probably found out Stiles pledged Kappa Tau and now he’s here seeking revenge for the pledge paddle incident. He’s probably here to end Stiles’ life.

Stiles does not want to die, especially not soaking wet in a neon pink speedo. He starts scrubbing at the hood of the car anxiously, while he watches Derek and Ethan walk over to the brothers.

“I thought Omega Chi were our rivals?” Mason says from where he’s scrubbing the roof of the car.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Stiles says absently as he watches Scott get up to meet them.

They stand there talking for several minutes in which Scott looks completely unperturbed- he keeps shrugging casually- while Derek and Ethan look increasingly more agitated.

Stiles is starting to get more nervous, wondering what they’re doing here and if it has anything to do with him.

He squints his eyes to see if he can read their lips, see if he can make out anything that looks like “murder” or “vengeance” or “torture.”

He’s still squinting when he realizes Derek’s mouth isn’t even moving. It’s not moving because he’s staring.

At Stiles.

His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s staring at Stiles.

Stiles does his best not to flinch and pretend like everything is a-okay, like he’s not freaking out internally. He bends down to dip his sponge into the bucket and starts scrubbing at the hood again.

When he looks back over, Derek’s watching him with his head tilted to the side. His eyebrows aren’t doing the broody thing anymore and he looks… amused? Entertained? Stiles can’t quite put his finger on it but whatever it is, it prickles at him, makes him feel hot all over.

He’s rinsing the soap off of the car when Derek and Ethan start walking past the pledges back to the Omega Chi house. As they get closer Stiles notices the bruise on Derek’s cheek where the pledge paddle hit him. It’s mostly covered by the scruff on his face but it’s definitely there. A big purple and green splotch.

Stiles would probably feel bad about it if Derek didn’t nod at the car and say, “You missed a spot” with a devilish smirk as he walked by.

Probably.

\---

Once all of the cars have been washed and dried, the brothers gather the pledges- still in their speedos- on the lawn.

“The Omega Chis are looking for their pledge paddle,” Scott says.

“Their pledge paddle that we definitely don’t have and have never seen,” Danny adds, his eyebrows daring any of the pledges to disagree.

“But that doesn’t mean they’re not going to come looking for one that might _resemble_ theirs and that we maybe, possibly acquired a couple nights ago,” Scott says.

“We need to protect that pledge paddle,” Danny says.

“Fortunately, the Omega Chis have no imagination, whatsoever, so we can pretty much guarantee that they’re already on their way to a certain dorm that they think might be offering refuge to their misplaced pledge paddle,” Scott looks at Stiles poignantly.

Stiles flails.

But only a little because he doesn’t have the pledge paddle. He left it with Scott and the other brothers.

“When they don’t find anything there, however,” Scott continues, “they’re going to come here.”

“Tonight,” Danny adds. “They also have no patience.”

“I’ve already had the item in question moved to a more secure location but we still don’t want them getting inside. We need to be ready.”

Kira spends the next couple of hours getting them ready- planning a defensive strategy and ordering the pledges (still in their speedos because apparently “There’s no time to change! This is war!”) to seal off the house. 

Stiles feels like he’s part of a mini army. A mini, speedo-wearing army.

The brothers manage to amass an impressive arsenal of water gun weaponry, along with hundreds of water balloons that they spend about an hour filling.

By the time everything’s ready and everyone’s in place, it’s dark out. They sit there for two hours with all the lights in the house off waiting for something to happen. Stiles is starting to get cold.

That’s when the doorbell rings.

Next to him, Scott pulls out a walkie-talkie.

“Everybody ready?” he asks.

“Red team’s ready,” Kira’s voice comes over the radio.

“Blue team’s ready.” another voice radios.

“Green team’s ready.”

“You’re up,” Scott turns to Stiles.

“Me?” Stiles croaks.

“This is your battle,” Scott says. “Make us proud, solider!” He pushes Stiles toward the front door.

Stiles walks to the door slowly- tells himself that it’s because he doesn’t want to make any noise and not because he’s terrified of what’s about to happen or the fact that he’s still in a freaking pink speedo. When he gets there, he takes a deep breath in and opens the door hesitantly.

It’s Boyd. Stiles sighs out a breath of relief.

Then Boyd says, “Sorry, man” and all hell breaks loose.

There are Omega Chis and Kappa Taus everywhere. Water balloons are being flung. War cries are being sung. Someone gets ahold of the hose.

All-in-all, Stiles is actually a little grateful for the speedo.

Until someone grabs him from behind and pulls him away from all the commotion. He’s shoved up against a car and finds himself face-to-face with Derek.

Derek and his surly eyebrows.

Stiles swallows.

“Where’s my pledge paddle?” Derek growls.

“Your pledge paddle? Haven’t seen it,” Stiles says as nonchalantly as he can.

“Stiles,” Derek threatens. He’s breathing heavy and he’s soaking wet. It’s not really conducive to Stiles focusing.  

Stiles licks his lips and Derek’s eyes track the movement. They linger on Stiles’ mouth for a moment before flicking back up to his eyes.

They’re standing there locked in a staring contest when one of the Omega Chi brothers comes by and says, “It’s not here, Derek. Let’s go.”

Derek nods once and starts to back away from Stiles. Before he turns to leave with the rest of the Omega Chis, he let’s his eyes roam down the length of Stiles’ body. With a smirk, he says, “Pink is a hard color to pull off.”

Then he’s gone.

Stiles is left wondering if Derek just insulted him or complimented him.

\---

Over the next few weeks, the Omega Chis and Kappa Taus take to attacking unsuspecting members of the opposing fraternity with water guns and the occasional water balloon.

Stiles ends up sitting through no less than four classes soaking wet.

He gets Jackson six times.

All-in-all it’s worth it, though it’s starting to get old.

Apart from that, nothing much happens. He goes to class, tries to spend as little time in his dorm room as possible, and completes whatever task the KT brothers throw at him (which so far is mostly just a surprising amount of laundry).

He even manages to spend some time with Boyd (sans any water) while completely avoiding Derek, which he thinks is a pretty impressive feat given that Derek chose Boyd as his little brother.

On the third Friday of the semester Stiles gets a text from Scott telling him to be at Kappa Tau the following morning at nine. Begrudgingly, he sets his alarm (nobody should have to be up that early on a weekend; it’s cruel and unusual punishment) and quickly slips into sleep.

The next morning as he’s walking to Kappa Tau he gets another text from Scott that says

**Change of plans. Meet @ OC**.

Stiles can’t think of a reason Scott would want him to go to the Omega Chi house but he also can’t think of any thing else that OC could stand for so he cautiously heads to Omega Chi.

When he gets there the Omega Chi pledges, including Boyd, are standing outside on the lawn and the Kappa Tau pledges are standing on the sidewalk. He waves to Boyd and goes to stand with Mason and the rest of the KT pledges.

A petite woman with pale skin and wavy brown hair walks out of the house, her heels clacking as they hit the pavement. Behind her, Scott and Danny come out, followed by Derek and Ethan.

She clears her throat and raises her eyebrows at Scott, who motions for the Kappa Tau pledges to join the Omega Chi pledges on the lawn. Once all the pledges are standing together she nods and begins speaking.

“For those of you who don’t know, I’m Jennifer Blake. Panhellenic sent me here to deal with BHU’s-,” she pauses, “special situation.”

She goes on to explain that Panhellenic and the IFC have created a task force to fix the Greek image on campus and that their goal is “to promote a culture of Greek unity, not Greek rivalry.”

Stiles looks past her to where Scott and Danny are standing with Derek and Ethan. Scott has his hands in his pockets and he’s looking down at his feet.

Danny looks a little irritated but mostly just resigned to whatever it is that’s happening right now.

“In order to do that,” Jennifer continues, “we’ve suspended all inter-Greek competition until further notice, which includes the annual paintball competition that I’ve been informed was supposed to take place today between the Kappa Tau pledges and the Omega Chi pledges.”

A paintball competition would’ve been fun. Stiles tries not to be too upset about it though. He’s actually kind of grateful that he won’t have to sit through any more classes soaking wet. Chaffing is an actual thing and it’s not pleasant.

“Instead, you’re going to be doing some philanthropy work as a show of solidarity for your sisters at ZBZ,” Jennifer says _._

Ethan is playing around on his phone, like this is all a waste of his time.

“And given your houses’ particular history with one another, you’re going to be doing it together.”

The pledges groan.

“Why are we being punished for something one of the sororities did? We don’t even have a rivalry problem,” Jackson complains.

Jennifer arches an eyebrow. “An incident with a pledge paddle would suggest otherwise.”

Jackson mutters something about being an innocent bystander.

Stiles looks at Derek who has his arms crossed over his chest. His mouth is set in a hard line and he’s scowling at the back of Jennifer’s head. It’s kind of disconcerting. Stiles is used to Derek’s eyes being trained on him, to being the one receiving his glare daggers. It almost feels wrong that Derek’s not looking at him now. After all, the incident with the pledge paddle was Stiles’ fault. If Derek’s going to be glaring at anyone, it should be Stiles.

“I’ll let you take over from here, boys” Jennifer says to the brothers. They watch her walk to her car and drive away.

“So what exactly are we doing here?” Boyd asks.

“Apparently the best way for us to promote Greek unity,” Ethan says flippantly, “is to be ZBZ’s servants.

“Next week is homecoming,” Scott interjects. “We’re going to help them build a float.”

“And plan the homecoming party,” Danny adds.

There’s another round of groans from the pledges.

“That makes no sense,” Jackson sneers.

“Just shut up and do as as your told, Pledge Whittemore,” Derek growls. Either he really doesn’t want to help out with homecoming or he hates Jackson just as much as Stiles does. Maybe both.

“Half of you will be helping plan the homecoming party and the other half will help with the float,” Danny says. He then splits the pledges into two groups. Him and Ethan take one group, including Boyd, with them. The rest of the pledges, including Stiles and Jackson, are left with Scott and Derek.

“Let’s go build a float,” Scott says in the least enthusiastic tone Stiles has ever heard from him and starts walking toward the ZBZ house.

The girl with the dimples that answered the door when Stiles came looking for Lydia is standing outside when they get there. 

“Boys,” she greets them.

“Allison,” Scott says.

They share a look that Stiles can’t decipher and then Allison clasps her hands together and says, “Let’s get started!”

\---

After a few close calls with a power drill (they’re a lot harder to control than they look), Stiles is sent to make papermache flowers with some of the ZBZ pledges. It’s okay though because it means he gets to be inside instead of out in the heat with the rest of the guys and by “rest of the guys” he means Jackson and Derek and they’re angry _I hate you_ vibes.

Stiles isn’t exactly a master papermache-er or anything but his flowers are decent.

Kind of.

If you squint hard enough.

They’re not the worst, at least. The girl sitting next to him, Malia, keeps cracking the papermache mold as soon as it dries. Stiles would find it funny if she didn’t keep waving her hands in frustration very close to his face while holding a pair of scissors.

The girl sitting across from him’s name is Erica. Stiles remembers her from the rush party. Boyd was dancing with her all night. Stiles wonders if that went anywhere and is about to ask Erica when Malia breaks another papermache flower.

“Screw this. I’m going to find a hammer,” she says and walks out.

A few minutes later Allison comes in and takes her seat.

“I’m going to take over for Malia for a little while,” she says. “You’re Scott’s little brother, right?”

“Yeah. I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

“Allison Argent,” she smiles.

_Argent._ She must be Kate’s niece.

“How’s he doing?” she asks.

“Who, Scott? He’s good,” Stiles says, a little unsure of what she’s really asking.

“Good,” she smiles but it looks more dejected than anything.

Stiles isn’t very good with things like feelings or emotions, especially not ones that might result in tears, so he just clears his throat uncomfortably.

Luckily, Erica- goddess that she is- cuts in.

“So you’re the guy who hit Derek in the face with a pledge paddle?”

“Ugh, does everybody know about that?” he groans.

Erica smirks.

“And here we all thought the Kappa Tau - Omega Chi rivalry was finally going to be over,” Allison laughs.

“What’s it about anyways?” Erica asks.

“It started when we were freshmen. The Omega Chis really wanted Scott but he chose Kappa Tau,” Allison says.

“There’s a rivalry because of which fraternity Scott chose?” Stiles asks.

“It’s complicated,” she says, then goes o to explain how Scott and Derek went to camp together when they were younger; how Scott rushed because of Derek and how Derek chose Omega Chi but Scott didn’t go with him; how the rivalry just grew from there.

She shifts uncomfortably the entire time she’s talking about it.

“Anyways, it seemed like they were going to put it behind them this year,” she finishes.

Stiles is in the middle of wondering if they had put it behind them until he showed up and ruined everything by hitting Derek with the pledge paddle and then stealing it, when Lydia walks into the room and says, “Stiles, get your jeep. We’re going shopping.”

\---

Lydia drags Stiles to every party store in Beacon Hills. He didn’t even know that many party stores could exist in one town without putting each other out of business. It was fun at first. There were masks and coconut bras for him to try on, and trinkets and fake insects for him to play with. But by the time they get to the sixth store, Stiles is so over shopping for party supplies that he actually wishes he were back in his dorm room with Isaac.

Shopping is exhausting.

After copious amounts of whining from Stiles, Lydia rolls her eyes and says, “Fine. I’ll come back tomorrow with Danny.” But she actually sounds relieved, like she needs a break too.

Stiles drives back to the ZBZ house slower than is strictly necessary. He figures Lydia could use the extra time, even if it’s only for a few minutes, just to take a breather.

While they’re driving, Stiles says, “Hey, Lydia?”

“Hmm?” 

“What’s the deal with Scott and Allison?”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“They obviously have a history?”

“Was that a question?” she arches her eyebrow. 

He shoots her a pleading look.

“They used to date,” she sighs.

“So what happened?”

“They broke up,” she says simply.

“And?” he prompts.

“That’s it. They dated freshmen year. It didn’t work out. They broke up.”

“So it has nothing to do with the rivalry between Derek and Scott? Allison didn’t like, leave Scott for Derek?” Stiles asks, thinking about how Allison kept shifting uncomfortably. He’s not sure why he even cares but now that he’s thinking about the possibility of Allison and Derek, he needs to know if they were- or are- a thing.

“Allison and Derek?” Lydia snorts. “Wrong Argent.”

Stiles eyes widen. “What?”

“Derek was Kate’s play-thing, not Allison’s,” she clarifies.

“So Derek was the Omega Chi pledge she seduced?”

“I don’t know the details. Derek and I aren’t exactly close and it’s not like Kate told anyone about it.”

Stiles is relieved that Derek and Allison were never a thing but he’s also a little nauseated that this Kate person and Derek were and that’s a feeling he’s not ready to examine so he pushes it to the back of his mind.

“So if nothing happened between Scott and Allison- if it just didn’t work out, I mean- why do they still seem so sad about it?” he asks.

“Just because you break up with someone doesn’t mean you stop loving them,” Lydia replies.

Stiles supposes she’s right. He wouldn’t really know. The only person he ever dated was Heather and he wasn’t in love with her. When they broke-up, he was sad for awhile but now he hardly even thinks about her. He wonders if he’d still miss her if he had loved her.

When they pull up to the ZBZ house the sun is starting to set. Lydia looks tired, like she hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since the article came out. She looks like she’d rather not be back here already.

Stiles likes these little moments with her- the rare ones when they’re alone and she lets her guard down a little, let’s him see the actual human being she hides underneath all the ambition and confidence and superiority. It doesn’t happen often but he saw it a few times when they studied together at the library before. Thinking about it now, Stiles doesn’t know why he ever even questioned if they were friends.

“Lydia,” he says.

She unbuckles her seatbelt. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about the article.” 

She looks up at him and smiles.

“You’re a really good president,” he tells her.

“I was wrong before, you know. You’re not completely useless at the whole fraternity thing,” she says and coming from her, that’s a compliment that Stiles is more than happy to take.

\---

Over the next few days Stiles spends all of his free time at the ZBZ house helping with the float. He somehow manages to avoid Jackson completely, which is nice, though he suspects it’s because Jackson isn’t exactly coming by as often as he’s supposed to.

On Wednesday afternoon, he gets to the ZBZ house at about four. The only person working on the float is Erica. She’s painting one of the wooden frames on the platform.

Stiles picks up a brush and starts helping.

They’re having an in-depth discussion about the merits of both the Marvel and DC Cinematic Universes when someone clears their throat behind them.

Stiles turns around and his mouth goes dry. Derek is standing there in a white threadbare shirt and a pair of worn jeans that are still tight enough to make Stiles wonder how he even got them on. He looks _good_.

“Hi Derek,” Erica leers. She tilts her head to the side like she’s trying to look at his ass- which Stiles can’t really blame her for- and says, “You should wear those jeans more often.”

Internally, Stiles nods his head vigorously in agreement.

Derek rolls his eyes like he gets that all the time- which he probably does because _damn_ \- and says, “I need help unloading some stuff from my car.”

“You look strong, Stiles. Why don’t you go help Derek?” Erica winks at Stiles, who’s a little confused now. He can’t figure out if she’s flirting with Derek or with him.

Or herself? That seems like a possibility too.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly, looking between Derek and Erica who are now having some sort of silent argument with their eyebrows and Stiles gives up any hope of understanding what’s going on.

Erica wins the argument apparently because she says, “Take your time, boys!” with a smirk and goes back to painting.

Derek huffs and starts walking toward the front of the house where his car is parked. Stiles follows. They walk in silence as Stiles tries and fails miserably not to stare at Derek’s ass. It’s a nice ass. Seriously. _So nice._

When they get to the car, Derek opens the trunk. Stiles peers inside and it takes every ounce of strength he has not to burst into laughter when he sees the strip of rolled-up, artificial grass.

He works his jaw, trying to conceal the smile that’s fighting it’s way to his lips. It doesn’t work.

“Shut up,” Derek says.

“No, it’s just- I know how important fake grass is to you,” Stiles says as seriously as he can, which isn’t very serious at all.

Derek shoots him a withering look before pulling the grass out of the trunk. It’s too big for one person to carry alone, so they each take an end.

As they’re walking, Stiles says, “So, is this grass thing like a hobby of yours?”

Derek glares.

“Is there like some sort of membership where you get special discounts?”

“Please stop talking.”

“Hey I’m just trying to have a dialogue here, you know. Promote a culture of Greek unity and what not,” he says with as much false sincerity as he can muster.

Derek doesn’t dignify it with a response.

When they get back to the float, Erica is gone. They hoist the grass up onto the platform.

“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Stiles says and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. The last time he was completely alone with Derek was at the Rec Center and that didn’t go too well.

“You don’t have to stay,” Derek says.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not going to just abandon you,” Stiles says. He may be an asshole but he’s not going to be _that_ asshole.

“Stiles, you’ve been here every day this week. You’ve done more than your share. It’s okay if you want to go.”

It sounds like Derek is trying to convince him to leave but the look on his face is kind of hopeful. Like maybe he wants Stiles to stay. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to do all this work alone. Stiles can’t really tell. Either way, he has nothing better to do and he’s not going anywhere.

He starts to unroll the grass and says, “If I go back to my dorm I’m just gonna have to hang out with my roommate, who I suspect is kind of homicidal.”

Derek snorts.

“I think he’s been plotting my murder since we moved in and I’m pretty sure he could get away with it.”

Derek raises his eyebrows.

“He just seems like the kind of guy who knows how to get rid of a body,” Stiles says.

Derek shakes his head but Stiles is pretty sure it’s more of an amused shake than one of judgement.

They work together mostly in silence after that but it’s not awkward. By the time the sun starts to set, they’ve gotten almost everything done. All of the major pieces are in place and painted; all that’s left to do is fill in the details, which ZBZ will probably take care of, so they start to clean up.

Stiles rinses the paint brushes out with the hose and Derek folds up the tarps that are no longer being used. As Stiles is turning off the hose, Derek says, “DC has Batman but Marvel has the Avengers. They’ve created an entire cohesive universe of superheroes with their franchise. There’s really no competition.” Then he turns around and walks off to his car.

And Stiles… was not expecting that. He stands there staring after Derek’s retreating form until well after he’s gone.

\---

Stiles uses Thursday to catch up on the homework he’s been neglecting since he started working on the float. He’s sitting on his bed reading when there’s a knock at the door.

Isaac gets up from his desk and opens it.

Stiles hears Lydia say, “Lahey,” before she pushes past him and into the room.

“Please, come in, Lydia. Make yourself at home,” Isaac says sarcastically and goes back to sit at his desk.

Then Allison walks in and says, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Allison.”

For a second Isaac just stares at her like a deer caught in headlights, before clearing his throat and saying, “I’m Isaac.”

“And we’re here to drop off your official invitation to the homecoming party tomorrow, Stiles,” Lydia cuts in.

She hands Stiles the invitation, which he takes with a “Thanks.”

There’s another knock at the still-open door. Jordan pokes his head in and says, “Just wanted to remind you guys about the floor meeting at seven.”

“And who are you?” Lydia asks, looking him up and down appreciatively.

“I’m Jordan, the RA,” he answers.

“Well, Jordan, the RA, are you coming to the homecoming party tomorrow night at ZBZ?” Lydia asks, though it sounds more like she’s telling him that that’s exactly what he’s going to be doing.

“Umm.”

“Stiles will give you the details,” she says decisively.

“Don’t worry. Isaac’s going to be there too, right?” Allison looks at Isaac expectantly.

“Yes,” Isaac says slowly and with more than a little apprehension.

Allison smiles.

“Great. We’ll see all three of you tomorrow at nine o’clock,” Lydia says, leaving no room for discussion, before she walks out.

Jordan, Isaac and Stiles watch dumbfounded as her and Allison go.

Once they’re gone, Jordan asks, “What just happened?”

Stiles squints. “I think you guys just got ZBZ-d.”

\---

Stiles spends homecoming with the Kappa Taus. Scott makes them all go to the homecoming parade in the morning because even though none of the brothers actually give a crap if they see the ZBZ float, Scott says it’s still important to support the sisters, especially with Panhellenic and IFC trying to enforce “Greek unity.”

Stiles has a feeling that Scott would make them go to support ZBZ even if it weren’t for that.

After the parade, there’s some tailgating and then the game. Stiles doesn’t really care about the game but he’s glad when they win because it puts everybody in a good mood. It means the party will be fun.

When the game is over, he goes back to his dorm to take a shower and change. Earlier Lydia had sent him a text saying that if he showed up to the party in plaid or a graphic tee she would have his balls in a vice. He doesn’t doubt that she could make that happen so he puts on a dark-blue long-sleeve henley and pushes the sleeves up a bit. He also puts on his tightest pair of jeans, but that’s really only because they’re the only clean pair he has right now.

By the time he’s ready it’s already a quarter to ten and Isaac and Jordan are waiting anxiously for him.

“We were supposed to be there at nine,” Isaac says. He’s wearing one of his scarves even though it’s not even sweater weather yet.

Stiles kind of wants to yank on it.

Really hard.

Just to see what happens.

“You’re supposed to be late to parties,” he replies as they start walking to ZBZ.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be late to Lydia’s parties,” Jordan says. He sounds scared. It’s endearing.

Stiles remembers when he was still terrified of Lydia. Mostly because he’s still terrified of her like ninety percent of the time. But he’s pretty sure that Lydia’s not even going to notice what time they get there tonight. She’ll be too busy hostessing.

When they get to the house the party is in full swing. There are people everywhere- drinking and dancing and laughing. Stiles spots Scott by the staircase and makes his way over with Isaac and Jordan in tow.

“Stiles, you brought friends!” Scott says and pulls him in for a hug.

“Scotty! This is my roommate, Isaac,” Stiles motions to Isaac.

“Hey, man, cool scarf,” Scott says and Stiles rolls his eyes so hard that his head goes with them.

Isaac beams at Scott and says, “Thanks.”

It’s creepy- Isaac being nice and smiling. Stiles wants it to stop.

“And this,” he interjects, throwing his arm around Jordan and patting his chest, “is Jordan, my RA.”

Jordan leans forward to shake Scott’s hand and Stiles lets his fall.

Something blue in the crowd behind Scott catches his eye and he looks over to see that it’s Derek. He’s wearing an azure v-neck that would probably make Stiles’ mouth water if Derek wasn’t also wearing a murderous glare.

Directed at Stiles.

Which at this point, is pretty much par for the course.

Except that the last time he saw Derek, things actually went pretty well. Stiles wouldn’t say they _bonded_ necessarily but they definitely didn’t try to kill each other. And there were no pledge paddles involved.

It was progress.

And Stiles is like ninety-nine percent sure that he hasn’t done any asinine things in the time since to screw it up. He can never be too certain though because he definitely has a knack for pissing people off without even trying and sometimes without even knowing.

Stiles is pulled from his thoughts when one of the guys from Psi Phi Pi- Matt, Stiles is pretty sure- motions for them all to stand together for a picture.

As soon as the picture is taken, Scott yells, “Shots!” and starts dragging Stiles toward the kitchen.

When Stiles glances back to where Derek was, he’s gone. Stiles sighs and goes willingly. Shots are sounding like a great idea.

In the kitchen there’s a group of people standing around an island-countertop. Sitting on it are several racks holding test tubes, which are filled about three-quarters of the way with clear liquid. Vodka, judging by the bottle of Absolut on the counter.

Allison is topping the tubes off with a bottle of 151. When she’s finished, she pulls out a lighter, flicks it, and drags it across the top of the tubes, leaving a blue flame rising out of each one. Then she blows one out, picks the tube up and yells, “Cheers!” before downing it. Everyone standing around the counter follows suit.

Next to Stiles, Jordan asks, “What was that?”

“That,” Lydia says, appearing out of nowhere, “was a Molotov Cocktail.”

“Impressive,” Jordan says.

“Welcome to ZBZ.”

Allison is already filling up another round of tubes and motions for them to gather round. Scott, Isaac and Jordan move to stand by the counter. Lydia pulls Stiles in the opposite direction.

“I need you to do me a favor,” she says, as they walk out of the kitchen.

“Sure, what’s up.”

“Some of these morons can’t seem to figure out how _not_ to touch the part of the glass that was on fire to keep from burning themselves,” she says. “I need you to go to the chemistry lab and get a box of clamps to hold the test tubes with.”

“It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night, Lydia. The building’s closed. Besides, I really don’t think you’re supposed to just take the equipment.”

She gives him a look that can only be interpreted as _do not underestimate me_.

“There you are,” she says and Stiles looks over to see Derek walking up to them. He’s still doing the broody eyebrow thing.

“Stiles, Derek is going to let you in the building,” she informs him.

“And how is Derek going to do that?”

“With a key,” Derek says flatly.

“If you have a key, what do you need me for?” Stiles asks. He’s not exactly eager to spend his evening with Broody McGrumpBrows, even if he does look delicious in that v-neck.

“Because you took chemistry and you know where all the instruments are kept. I don’t even know if Derek knows what a clamp is,” she says and Derek rolls his eyes.

“Just hurry back,” she says, dismissing them and walks back toward the kitchen.

“So I guess we’re going to the science building?” Stiles turns to Derek.

Derek doesn’t answer, just heads for the front door.

Stiles follows him out of the house and across the lawn, then falls into step next to him on the sidewalk. Derek doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge that Stiles is there; just looks forward while emoting his _I am a grumpy mcgrumpface and would rather not have to deal with you_ vibes.

Stiles isn’t phased. After a few minutes he says, “I thought you were strictly against breaking and entering.”

“It’s not breaking and entering when I have a key,” Derek replies without looking at him.

“And how _do_ you have a key?” Stiles asks.

“I just do.”

Derek picks up his pace and Stiles matches it.

“Does it have something to do with you being the president of Omega Chi?” Stiles pries.

“I’m not the president of Omega Chi.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, dubious.

“Really.”

“Then why are you always around?”

Derek turns his head to look at him. His eyebrows are more exasperated than broody now.

“You know what I mean,” Stiles roll his eyes.

“I’m Pledge Educator,” Derek says.

“Oh. Are you sure? Everyone kind of thinks you’re the president,” Stiles says.

“I’m sure,” Derek sighs. “I’m not even a senior.”

“So? Neither is Lydia or Scott.”

“Yeah, well, you try telling Lydia she can’t do something.”

Stiles considers that for a moment. “Good point. And Scott?”

“Scott,” Derek says as they reach the building, “is Kappa Tau Jesus, apparently.” He pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the door, then holds it open for Stiles.

Once they’re inside, Stiles says, “So just to be clear, Lydia wants me to _steal_ a box of clamps from the chemistry department?”

“Borrow,” Derek says absently and pushes him forward.

The semantics don’t really make Stiles feel any better; though neither Derek or Lydia seem too concerned with the whole thing. And it’s not like Stiles has some moral issue with it. He’d just rather not get arrested, is all.

They’re walking in the direction of the chemistry lab when Stiles hears a door close, followed by someone whistling. Derek tenses and grabs Stiles’ arm.

Stiles looks back at him, incredulous.

“I thought you-”

“Shut up,” Derek hisses.

The whistling gets louder, like it’s moving in their direction. Derek yanks the closest door open- one to a supply closet- and pushes Stiles inside, before following him in and pulling the door shut behind him.

It’s a tiny space as far as closets go. It’s packed with boxes, leaving barely enough room for the two of them. Stiles has hi back against a wall of boxes, arms at his sides. It’s dark but he can still tell that Derek is facing him with only about an inch between their bodies. Stiles has to turn his head a little just so that their faces aren’t touching.

He knows he should probably be worried about what will happen to them if they get caught but right now he can’t seem to find it in himself to care; because Derek’s breath is ghosting across his neck, short-circuiting his brain and sending shivers down his spine.

Also, he smells incredible.

Like soap.

Like he just took a shower.

It’s simple and not at all over-bearing, like cologne sometimes is. It’s the kind of thing that you have to be up close and personal with to even notice and just thinking about it like that has heat pooling low in Stiles’ stomach and he has to actively stop himself from shoving his nose right into Derek’s neck and just inhaling.

He tries not to think about how close Derek is and how easy that would be and instead focuses on the sound of the whistling. It gets louder and louder until it’s right on the other side of the door, then tapers off. He hears the sound of one of the heavy doors to the building slam shut and then the whistling is gone.

Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding as Derek reaches back to open the door and let them out.

It doesn’t open.

Derek tries jiggling the handle.

It still doesn’t open.

“What kind of door locks from the outside but not the inside?” Stiles squawks.

Derek doesn’t answer; just leans forward and bangs his head against one of the boxes. Stiles tries to ignore the way Derek’s body feels pressing into his.

He can’t so he just clears his throat and says, “I’m gonna call Lydia.”

Derek sighs and moves back into his own space but it still doesn’t leave much room for Stiles to reach into his pocket and grab his phone. It takes some twisting and maneuvering that is not conducive to the situation that’s developing in Stiles’ pants for him to get his phone out.

Stupid tight jeans.

Once he has the phone in his hand, he calls Lydia- who thankfully answers- and explains the situation. After some yelling, she promises someone will come let them out and hangs up.

Stiles sighs, then tries to put his phone back in his pocket but the maneuvering doesn’t work like it did when he got it out. His body keeps rubbing up against Derek’s and _fuck_ , he must have done something truly terrible in another life because this is a particularly cruel form of punishment.

Why did he have to wear his tight jeans tonight?

After a few more minutes of trying and failing to get his phone back in his pocket, Derek snatches it out of his hand with a huff. He reaches up and puts it on top of the boxes behind Stiles, about a foot above his head.

Derek leaves his arm up, his hand gripping the edge of the box. There’s still about an inch between them but somehow it feels even more intimate than before, like Derek’s caging him in

Stiles is completely hard now and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to keep his hands- and his thoughts- to himself.

Meanwhile, Derek keeps huffing out little annoyed breaths and sighing like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to _him._

The thing about Stiles, though, is that for him, turned on and angry are not mutually exclusive feelings. He may be painfully hard but that doesn’t mean he’s not also ready to strangle Derek for having the audacity to act like this is something that’s happening _to_ him, not something that is almost entirely his fault. So when Derek let’s out what must be his hundredth long-suffering sigh, Stiles snaps. 

“ _Oh my god_ , what is your problem? Is physical proximity to me really that horrible?”

“Physical proximity. That’s what you call this,” Derek says flatly.

“Yes,” Stiles shouts. “Your physical body is proximal to my physical body. Physical proximity. What would you call it?”

“Torture.”

“Oh fuck you, dude” Stiles spits.

Then Derek is leaning in, his chest pressing against Stiles’. He turns his head so his mouth is right at Stiles’ ear and says, “Only if you say please.”

Stiles gasps. He can’t help it. He’s so unbelievably turned on right now that if Derek so much as breathed on him the right way he’d probably come in his pants.

He wants nothing more than to just pull Derek in by his ass and grind their hips together but he’s pretty sure Derek is just being an asshole. Still, there’s a part of him that wants to call Derek’s bluff. His hands are twitching at his sides and he’s on the verge of just saying _fuck it_ and going for it, when the door is pulled opened.

It’s Erica, wearing a downright lecherous smile; and Boyd, who somehow manages to look completely unsurprised to find them pressed up against each other and also mildly amused all at the same time.

Stiles swears that Derek hesitates and takes a deep breath in before moving away from him and asking, “What the hell took you so long?”

Boyd just blinks back at him.

“Maybe we should’ve taken a little longer,” Erica suggests.

Derek huffs and starts walking back the way they came.

“Uh where are you going?” Stiles asks from where he’s still in the closet trying to will his boner into submission.

Derek turns around and looks at him in exasperated confusion.

“I’m not going back to the party without those clamps,” Stiles says.

“They started using regular shot glasses twenty minutes ago,” Boyd tells him.

Stiles grits his teeth. He’s still angry and hard (so, so painfully hard) and his jeans are too tight and he can’t adjust himself without it being obvious and even if he could it probably wouldn’t help anyways. Nothing about this situation is going well so he’s at least going to do what he came here to do.

“Yeah well I broke into this building and got locked in a closet in order to steal some shit so I’m gonna steal some shit,” he says. 

Derek sighs, turns around and starts walking in the direction of the chemistry lab. Stiles, Erica, and Boyd follow.

Once they’re at the lab, Derek goes straight to the cabinet where the clamps are kept- obviously knowing exactly where they are- pulls out a box, shoves it at Stiles, then shuts the cabinet door with more force than is absolutely necessary and turns around to leave.

He doesn’t wait for any of them.

\---

While they’re making their way back to the ZBZ house- with Derek nowhere in sight- Stiles asks, “Hey, how’d you get into the building?”

“Erica,” Boyd replies, as if that explains everything.

Stiles has spent some time with Erica though so it actually kind of does.

Stiles hums thoughtfully and Erica grins.

\---

When they get back to the party, Erica and Boyd head straight for the living room where there’s a crowd of people dancing, including Kira and that ZBZ pledge, Malia, who look especially intimate- kind of hypnotized by each other. Stiles can’t really blame them though. He’s sort of entranced just watching them until he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing.

He takes the box of clamps to the kitchen. Lydia and Jordan are in there. They’re standing close together. Jordan has his head bowed and Lydia’s trailing her hand up and down his arm.

Figures.

Of course Lydia is here getting her flirt on and having a good time while he’s getting locked in closets and having unsolicited erections.

He drops the box onto the counter. The _clang_ startles them. That makes him feel a little better.

“Where’s Scott?” he asks.

“He disappeared with Isaac awhile ago,” Lydia answers.

Stiles groans and reaches for his phone

...which Derek put on top of the boxes.

_Great_.

Stiles isn’t Erica. He has no idea how to get into a locked building without a key and he’s not going to pull her away from the party again. It’s not her fault any of this happened.

He has no idea where Derek went. Probably wouldn’t ask him for help even if he did.

He decides that the best thing for him to do is to just call it a night before anything else goes wrong. Hopefully the building will be unlocked tomorrow. It’s not like anyone’s going to take his phone. Nobody will even know it’s there.

He’s just going to go back to his dorm, probably have an angry jerk-off session and pass out.

He says goodbye to Lydia and Jordan and heads back to his dorm, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone else.

He spends the walk back replaying the night. Derek didn’t really need Stiles to go with him. He had a key. He knew exactly where the clamps were. He’s perfectly capable of carrying a box of them on his own.

But he also didn’t fight Lydia on taking Stiles with him. Why didn’t he fight Lydia on taking Stiles with him?

_You try telling Lydia she can’t do something_.

Maybe he knew arguing with Lydia was pointless.

_Only if you say please._

Maybe he wasn’t just being an asshole.

_Torture._

Maybe he was.

Stiles gets back to his dorm and doesn’t bother flipping on the light. He toes off his shoes, then pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it somewhere on the floor. He unbuttons his jeans and shimmies out of them (which takes some actual effort and he almost falls on his ass twice- seriously, he’s never wearing these jeans again) before collapsing on his bed.

Out of habit, he goes to grab his phone from the table next to his bed so that he can set his alarm. He reaches out, feels around and picks up his phone.

He picks up his phone?

He flails a little in surprise and knocks over something that was on the table- a water bottle from the sound of it.

He presses the home button to make sure that this is in fact his phone- and yep, that’s the picture of him and Scott holding red solo cups and grinning at the camera on rush night that he set as his screen saver.

Derek brought him his phone.

Which really only raises about a thousand more questions for Stiles.

Did Derek have his phone the whole time or did he remember that it was on top of the boxes and go back to get it? And how did he get into Stiles’ room? Does he have a key for every single lock on campus? Why did Derek bring it back here? Why didn’t he bring it back to the party? Or give it to someone to give to Stiles?

These are questions he’s probably never going to get an answer to. He should just be grateful Derek brought him his phone at all and let that be that.

He sighs and puts it back on the table, resolving to just let it go.

He doesn’t of course. Let it go, that is. He spends the entire weekend alternating between replaying every interaction he’s ever had with Derek and jerking off to the thought of being crowded up against a wall by him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is not how Panhellenic/Nationals/IFC work but I just don't care. It's more fun this way.
> 
> I spent a lot of time trying to figure out if the supply closet door locked from the outside but not the inside or if it locked from the inside but not the outside and to be honest, I'm still not sure. The more I think about it, the more my brain hurts.


	3. Chapter 3

On Monday, another article written by D. Orestes comes out.

It’s an expose on the “secret world of debauchery in the Greek system.”

Which, you know, isn’t actually a secret, nor is it limited to the Greek system. It’s not like partying is exclusive to fraternities and sororities.

But apparently detailing the “scandalous nature” of underage drinking and sexual activity that the majority of college students engage in, and applying it to Greek students specifically (and on paper with photographic evidence) makes it a big deal.

The kind that gets the dean involved.

And requires meetings.

Not for Stiles. He’s still just a pledge. But it seems like Scott and the rest of the Kappa Tau board are at a meeting with the dean every single day for the rest of the week.

Boyd and Erica say it’s the same for Omega Chi and ZBZ.

None of them are entirely sure what the meetings are about or what’s going to happen but they know it’s not going to be good. This is the second time the BHU Greek system has come under intense scrutiny. The fall-out from the first article was fairly minimal considering all that it alleged but there’s no way the university is going to let them off with just a warning after this one.

The only upside to the article being published is that it keeps Stiles’ mind off of Derek and the homecoming party.

Kind of.

Okay, not at all.

But it does give him a chance to get completely caught up on all of his homework and reading, even a little bit ahead actually. With Scott having to constantly meet with the dean, Stiles doesn’t see him at all. It frees up a lot of time. He hadn’t realized how much of his time he actually spent at Kappa Tau with Scott.

He kind of misses him. Which is weird because it hasn’t even been a week. And Stiles spent close to two decades without a best friend so there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to handle it for five days.

Still, when he gets the text from Scott telling him to be at Kappa Tau Friday night at seven, he’s pretty excited, considering it’s probably going to be about the article and it’s repercussions.

\---

Turns out that’s exactly what it’s about.

Apparently Dean Harris’ solution to the entire scandal is to enforce harsher restrictions on Greek social life. In addition to a higher GPA requirement and every house having to complete one-hundred extra philanthropy hours each semester, they’re put on probation indefinitely. Probation in which all members of the Greek system are to reflect a “clean and wholesome” image. And in which alcohol is officially banned.

Which basically means no parties.

At least not any that are fun.

All of the houses on campus have to comply with the new restrictions and nobody is happy about it. There’s a futile witch-hunt for D. Orestes that lasts about a week before everyone gets frustrated and gives up. It’s not like finding the person who wrote the articles will get the probation lifted anyways.

Most of the fraternities and sororities end up putting all their efforts into trying to figure out how to get around the no alcohol restriction. The Psi Phi Pi’s are the first house to test just how strictly the ban will be enforced by throwing a small party in which alcohol is served only to persons over the age of twenty-one.

Turns out: _very strictly_. There’s talk of the Psi Phi Pi’s being shut down completely. Ultimately a deal is struck where they have to pay a massive fine and complete an extra two-hundred philanthropy hours by the end of the semester; they’re also given an eleven o’clock curfew. It’s enough to keep the rest of the houses from even attempting to bend any of the rules.

Officer Finstock starts doing random checks to make sure none of the houses have any alcohol on the premises. So not only are they not allowed to host events with alcohol, they’re not allowed to even be in possession of it.

Any Greek student caught breaking any of the rules- underage drinking, wearing lewd or suggestive attire, public intoxication, etc- even outside of official Greek events, is subject to punishment as well.

Everyone is getting exceedingly frustrated, including Stiles. Joining a fraternity was supposed to enhance his social life, not kill it.

It’s not that he doesn’t love hanging out and playing video games with Scott and the other guys; he does. He’s never had friends that he could just hang out with like this, especially not any like Scott.

It’s just- he stills wants the full “college experience.” And that includes drunken shenanigans.

He’s supposed to be having fun, getting it out of his system before he goes off to join the real world and get a depressing nine-to-five job and a house with a white picket fence and two-point-five children.

And it’s almost Halloween-arguably the funnest day of the year. He should be overflowing with excitement but mostly he just feels kind of depressed.

And also kind of horny.

Which makes the probation even worse.

Halloween is supposed to be the ultimate party of the year. There should be costumes and skin and debauchery and drinking to excess. But none of that is allowed under the dean’s strict regulations.

With the lackluster promise of a sober Halloween for the Greek houses, everyone is down in the dumps.

It’s Lydia, of course, who comes to the rescue.

She comes up with the idea to throw a 1920’s prohibition-themed costume party, complete with a speakeasy.

Her and Allison bring the idea to the Kappa Taus because they have a basement big enough to accommodate said speakeasy.

The idea is to have a seemingly probation-approved party on the ground level of the house- one with people mingling innocently and doing the Charleston- while the actual party takes place downstairs in the basement- with New Orleans Jazz, actual cocktails, and poker.

There’s no way to get around having to wear acceptable costumes that aren’t _Slutty Nurse #2_ but at least with a themed party, people can still dress up.

And more importantly, they can still drink if they can pull off the speakeasy portion of the party.

After weeks of being on probation, the Kappa Taus are more than happy to host it. 

Lydia and Scott agree that informing Dean Harris and the Panhellenic-IFC task force of their plans to throw a 1920’s themed Halloween party is the best way to throw off any suspicion for the actual party that will be taking place in the basement.

Unfortunately, they didn’t foresee being told that promoting a culture of Greek unity is still a priority. If the Kappa Taus want to host a party, they have to do it with Omega Chi.

That’s how Stiles, Scott, Lydia, and Allison find themselves ringing the Omega Chi’s doorbell in hopes of getting their Social Chair, Ethan, to agree to the party.

And because this is Stiles’ life, Derek- who Stiles hasn’t seen since the homecoming party and who still looks like sex-on-legs- is the one to answer, of course.

“What do you want?” Derek asks.

“We need to talk to Ethan,” Scott says.

“Ethan’s out of town.”

“Well then we need to talk to _you_ ,” Lydia says primly.

“But he’s not the president,” Stiles interrupts.

Lydia and Derek turn to glare at him in unison. It’s kind of terrifying- like they’ve choreographed their disdain for when he speaks. Stiles doesn’t even want to know what would happen if they ever actually teamed up.

Or had a child together.

Wow, that’s a scary thought. Kind of amusing too. He can’t even imagine a baby with the capacity for that much disdain. It’s first word would probably be “peasant.”

Stiles chuckles to himself at that thought, then realizes that everyone is staring at him and says, “Well, are you going to invite us in or not?”

Derek sighs, put upon, and moves out of the way to let them in.

They go into the dining room, away from the brothers dispersed throughout the rest of the house.

“Well?” Derek asks.

“We want to throw a Halloween party at the KT house,” Allison says.

“You should probably talk to Danny about that then,” Derek says sarcastically.

“Danny’s out of town,” Scott replies, missing Derek’s sarcasm entirely.

“Hey, do you think it’s weird that both Danny and Ethan are out of town at the same time?” Stiles wonders out loud.

Another choreographed glare.

It really is impressive.

“What is he even doing here?” Derek asks in reference to Stiles. Which, rude. And totally uncalled for.

Scott cuts in before any insults can be traded though. He explains the premise for the party and how Kappa Tau can’t do it without Omega Chi.

“Why would I agree to a party that could get Omega Chi shut down?” Derek asks.

“You’re not going to get shut down because we’re not going to get caught. Lydia and Allison have a plan,” Scott assures him.

“And why should I trust them?” Derek counters.

“Probation sucks for everyone. They’re just trying to make it better.”

“These two? This one,” Derek points to Lydia, “who got me locked in a closet running an unnecessary errand? Thank you. And this one,” he points to Allison, “who got enough people drunk at homecoming to have an article written that put the entire Greek system on probation?”

“Okay, come on,” Stiles cuts in, “No one died, alright? Look, there may have been a little drinking, okay, a little debauchery, but no death. That’s what I call an important distinction.”

And there are the glares again. Derek’s is particularly impressive this time. Even Scott’s looking a little glower-y.

“The probation is not my fault,” Allison says. “You cannot blame the entire Greek reputation on one night.”

“Come on, Derek,” Scott pleads.

After about thirty seconds of silent brooding, Derek caves. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

\---

They spend the next several days planning the party in excruciating detail and making sure everyone knows exactly what the protocol is.

The party is open to everyone, but only members of ZBZ, Kappa Tau, and Omega Chi (plus a few special guests) are allowed to know about the basement-speakeasy. They figure that by opening the fake party up to all the Greeks, enough people (ones who won’t expect any real fun but who also have no other options with the probation still in effect) will show up to fill the fake party that they won’t have to cycle people out of the real party too often.

That’s the less-than-ideal part. In order to make it seem like the party is complying with all of the dean’s rules, they have to make sure there’s a substantial number of people mingling at the fake party at all times. Everyone is going to have to spend some time being bored out of their minds on the first floor of the KT house at some point during the night.

It’s a small price to pay though. And knowing Lydia, there’s at least going to be delicious food.

By Halloween, Stiles is shaking with anticipation. Metaphorically shaking, that is. The Greek social calendar has basically been dead for weeks now. This is the most exciting thing to happen since homecoming.

Plus, it’s a secret. One that he’s in on. It’s like being on the guest list for one of those ultra exclusive Hollywood parties. Or like he’s one of those guys in the movies that knows the password for all the cool underground clubs.

He feels important.

And slightly aroused. Apparently the thrill of doing something he’s not supposed to is a turn on for him. Or maybe it’s the possibility of getting caught. Could even be that he just hasn’t had sex in a really long time. Maybe a combination of all three. He’s choosing not to look at it too closely right now and just focus on the party.

During the day, he helps with the decorations. He’s not sure who’s in charge of the alcohol or how they’re going to get all of it in the basement without anyone noticing but he decides not to worry about it. It’s not his problem. He just wants to have a good time tonight. He didn’t get to enjoy the homecoming party but he’s sure as hell going to enjoy this one; especially since it’s probably the only one he’s going to get to attend for awhile.

Once Lydia dismisses him from setting up, he goes back to this dorm to get ready for the party. He’s actually kind of proud of his costume. Lydia helped pick it out so he knows he’s going to look good. He’s wearing fitted charcoal gray slacks that even Allison said made his butt look good, a blue button-up shirt, with a gray bow-tie and suspenders. It’s simple and surprisingly comfortable and Allison was right- his butt does look good. He gels his hair and rolls his sleeves up and he’s ready.

\---

When he gets to the party he’s greeted by Allison in a silver flapper dress.

“Stiles!” she says with a huge smile.

“Allison, you’re looking lovely,” he compliments her.

“Thanks. You look good too. Those pants were a good choice,” she says firmly. “Did Isaac come with you?”

“No, I don’t know where he is. He wasn’t at the dorm,” Stiles answers, scanning the crowd that’s already gathered to see if he can spot Isaac.

He’s not really sure what’s going on between the two of them. Allison invited Isaac to the homecoming party. But then Scott and Isaac started hanging out (as Stiles found out when Isaac showed up to the KT house because him and Scott were “going for Mexican”). And Allison and Scott are still broken-up and kind of awkward around each other, even though they’ve been spending a lot more time together recently.

Ultimately, Stiles decides he doesn’t want to know about the love triangle that’s probably developing there so he just doesn’t ask.

“You should go see how the basement turned out,” Allison says.

He nods and heads downstairs.

The basement is amazing. Lydia really went all out. There’s black and silver decorations everywhere. A silver foil curtain lines one of the walls, while a black one lines another. There’s balloon bouquets dispersed throughout the room and a white-beaded chandelier.

The lights are dimmed low with a small overhead light at each of the several tables set up where poker games are already taking place.

In one corner, there’s a mini bar, complete with a bartender and in another corner there’s a small dance floor where several couples are already dancing to the music that’s coming out of an impressive sound system that somehow can’t even be heard from upstairs.

“What do you think?” Lydia asks, walking over to him from the bar and handing him a drink. She’s wearing a red flapper dress. It makes her stand out against the black and silver of the basement.

“It’s incredible, Lydia,” he says. “You really pulled it off.”

“Not yet,” she retorts, “But I will.”

She ushers him in the direction of one of the poker games, where Erica is already amassing a considerable pile of chips.

Stiles buys into the game and spends the next couple hours losing his money (which he doesn’t actually mind) and getting a good buzz from the cocktails.

At some point Scott and Isaac get there and buy in; and Allison makes her way down as well.

On the dance floor, Malia and Kira are absorbed in each other once again. Malia has her hands on Kira’s waist, moving their bodies in sync to the music, and she’s looking at Kira like she’s the only person in the room.

Danny and Ethan are sitting at different tables but Stiles can see the not-so-subtle glances they keep throwing in each other’s direction.

Erica is still taking everyone’s money and Boyd is right by her side, cheering her on.

Even Mason looks like he’s talking Jackson up, which is actually kind of hilarious because Jackson is pretending not to be interested- rolling his eyes and huffing- but he hasn’t walked away yet and there’s a small smile playing at his lips.

Everyone seems to be paired off and it’s not that Stiles minds really; it’s just that he can’t keep his mind from drifting to Derek and wondering where he is. And the thing is, Stiles doesn’t even _like_ Derek. He’s rude and grumpy and he does the angry eyebrow thing and he constantly looks like he’s judging Stiles’ every thing and if Stiles wanted to feel insecure about his life choices he would just go hang out at his dad’s work and get bombarded with questions about what he plans to do when he graduates, okay. He doesn’t need that from Derek.

But Derek is also hot like burning and Stiles has accepted that he wants to get all up in that. He’s not ashamed to admit that Derek and his phenomenal ass have been the focus of most of his masturbatory fantasies since he got locked in a closet with him, possibly even before that.

It’s just that he’s pretty sure he only wants to get all up in that _in theory_ because in practice, he would have to actually socialize with Derek.

And Derek would probably kill him.

At least inflict some damage. He looks like he could inflict a lot of damage. He looks like he could do a lot of things with that body.

Especially those thighs.

They seem muscular. Like they wouldn’t get tired too quickly and he could probably just-

_No_.

Stiles is not going to think about Derek outside of the safety and confines of his daily jerk-off session. That’s it. He’s putting his foot down. Derek’s ass is off-limits.

Fortunately, Jordan pulls him out of his thoughts. “Hey, Lydia wants us to rotate upstairs.”

“Okay,” Stiles replies, kind of grateful to get away from all the couple-y vibes in the basement so that he can get his mind back on track.

He goes upstairs with Jordan- who disappears somewhere in the crowd of people after about a minute, probably to find Lydia- and realizes he’s not sure what he’s actually supposed to do at this fake party. The only real activities are dancing and mingling and he’s not friends with any of the people up here.

There are some ZBZs and Omega Chis and even a few of his KT brothers but they’re either busy dancing already or not people he really wants to talk to.

The only other person he even recognizes is that Matt guy from Psi Phi Pi who always has a camera in his hand. He’s giving Stiles weird little looks too. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

Stiles doesn’t like it.

He decides to go try some of the food. It’ll get him away from Matt and his creeper vibe. Besides, he might as well get some food in his system so that he can keep drinking without getting sick when he goes back downstairs.

He heads over to the tables with the food and shoves something in his mouth. He’s not even sure what it is- his idea of fine dining is still a burger and curly fries- but it tastes pretty good. Plus, it keeps him busy while he figures out what the hell he’s going to do to keep himself entertained while he’s stuck up here.

He’s licking some stray crumbs from his lips when someone clears their throat next to him. He turns his head to see Derek.

Derek, who is wearing the most sinfully tight black pants Stiles’ has ever seen, with a black button-up and a red tie underneath a black and red-pinstriped vest.

Derek, who looks so perfectly put together that Stiles’ mind goes straight to taking him apart.

And suddenly, the only thing Stiles can think about is Derek’s ass and his thighs and all the things he told himself were off limits.

He swallows the last of the food in his mouth and manages a head nod.

Derek says, “Hi” like he thinks Stiles is the biggest idiot in the world. Which he probably does.

Stiles doesn’t really care at the moment though, as he’s trying to summon the power of the Force and will Derek to turn around so he can see his ass in those pants.

It’s not working.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks and Stiles realizes that he’s actually squinting in concentration while trying to use the Force.

He clears his throat and says, “Yep. Just trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do while I’m up here.”

“I think you’re supposed to dance,” Derek says, looking at the crowd of people doing their best to imitate what Stiles thinks might be the foxtrot though he’s not even sure what the foxtrot actually is.

“You’re not dancing,” Stiles points out.

“Don’t have a partner,” Derek responds, almost absently.

“Problem solved,” Stiles says, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of the dance floor.

“That’s not what I meant,” Derek objects but Stiles just drags him to the middle of the floor.

He has no idea how to dance to this music but it doesn’t really look like anybody else does either so he just kind of goes with it.

He’s stepping forward with his right foot before bringing it back and stepping back with his left and he’s not sure if he’s even doing that right but it’s mostly to the beat and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t look completely ridiculous but Derek is just standing there staring at him.

Normally, Stiles would probably be embarrassed but he still has enough of a buzz going that he really doesn’t care.

Instead, he grabs Derek’s hips and says, “Come on, big guy.”

He pushes Derek to step back with his left foot while he steps forward with his right. Then he pulls Derek back towards him, while he steps back with his left. Derek picks it up quickly but Stiles doesn’t let go.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Derek didn’t want him to, that Derek was actually closing some of the already minimal distance between them.

Derek brings his arms up to rest on Stiles’ shoulders and Stiles looks up to meet his gaze. The song changes and they slow down their step to match it. Derek drops his gaze down to Stiles’ lips where it lingers for a moment before he hooks two fingers under one of Stiles’ suspenders.

Stiles watches as he drags his fingers down the length of the suspenders, just barely pressing into his torso, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. He stops halfway down Stiles’ stomach and looks back up at him from under his dark eyelashes.

Without thinking, Stiles tightens his grip on Derek’s hips and pulls him closer. They’re barely moving their feet now, too caught up in what’s happening between them and Stiles is starting to lean in, about to just go for it and kiss Derek, when someone grabs him by the shoulder.

“What the hell is this?” Officer Finstock asks as he pulls Stiles away from Derek.

Stiles splutters, trying to come up with an explanation- though he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to be explaining.

“Dean Harris sent me over to make sure you kids are playing by the rules. Leave some room for Jesus, for Christ’s sake,” Finstock says, then chuckles. “Jesus. Christ’s sake. See what I did there? Never mind. I’m gonna look around.”

Stiles looks at Derek, who’s wearing a sheepish expression but he doesn’t have time to deal with whatever it is that just happened between them because Finstock is here and there is a protocol to follow.

He pulls out his phone and sends a mass text.

**CODE F!!!**

Then he runs to catch up with Finstock.

“Officer Finstock,” he calls after him, “why don’t I show you around?”

“That’s not really necessary. I can-”

“Nonsense. Let me just show you over here to our vast selection of delicious sustenance,” Stiles leads him over to the tables with the food.

“Fine,” Finstock sighs. “So what have you got?”

“Uh, food,” Stiles says.

“What kind of food?” Finstock asks.

“What kind of food?” Stiles repeats.

Finstock looks at him expectantly.

“The, uh, th- the kind you eat.”

Finstock narrows his eyes at Stiles.

“I’m keeping an eye on you, kid,” he says, then starts walking toward the door to the basement.

“We’re not finished with the tour,” Stiles goes after him.

Finstock raises a hand in dismissal.

Stiles plaster his back to the door.

“You don’t want to go down there!” he shouts. Which, excellent distracting, Stilinski. There’s nothing suspicious about that at all.

He groans internally at his stupidity but he can’t take it back now.

Fortunately, Derek comes over and says, “There’s a problem with some mold. One of the pipes has been leaking. You don’t want to subject yourself to that.”

Unfortunately, Finstock replies, “Nice try, Hale. Now, move out of my way.” He motions for Stiles to move.

There’s not much Stiles can do at this point so, begrudgingly, he slides away from the door.

Finstock opens the door and Stiles follows him downstairs, where it looks like a completely different basement than the one he was in not even an hour ago. The decorations are still up but there’s no sign of any bar or any alcohol- just a pile of boxes. There are no cards or poker chips out on any of the tables. Just some plates with left over food. The music is off and there’s a spotlight on the dance floor but nobody’s dancing.

There’s just Scott, sitting on a stool and reading to everyone sitting at the tables.

“It’s a great advantage not to drink among hard drinking people,” Scott reads.

“What the hell is this, McCall?” Finstock asks.

“ _The Great Gatsby_ ,” Scott says with so much sincerity that Stiles almost believes he actually _is_ sincere. He’s making those big puppy dog eyes and Stiles wonders if he’s ever been in trouble a day in his life.

“ _Why_ are you reading it?” Finstock asks.

“It’s a classic, sir,” Scott replies, the picture of innocence.

“You kids are up to something. I know mischief when I see it. Luckily for you, I don’t really like Dean Harris. So, carry on-,” Finstock makes a face of disgust, “reading your book.”

Stiles follows him back upstairs and shows him out. He exhales a huge sigh of relief and sends out another mass text

**ALL CLEAR**

He’s about to go back downstairs and ask them how the hell they pulled that off when he spots Derek lingering in the hallway. They make eye contact and suddenly Stiles remembers what was about to happen before Finstock showed up.

He walks over to Derek and drags him by his tie into the bathroom. He closes the door behind Derek but doesn’t let go.

He hadn’t really planned what he was going to say so he’s just staring at him, searching his face for inspiration when finally he decides that there’s not really anything he wants to say. He just wants to kiss Derek and pretending like that isn’t true is just stupid at this point. He’s just going to go for it.

He yanks softly on Derek’s tie, pulling him slowly toward him. He looks down at Derek’s lips and licks his own, then looks back up at Derek’s eyes one last time, giving him the option to back out.

Derek swallows but doesn’t pull away. Stiles tugs him in the rest of the way and brushes their lips together.

At first, Derek doesn’t respond, just stays stock still. Stiles is afraid he’s crossed some sort of line- that maybe Derek doesn’t want this. He’s just starting to pull away when Derek grabs Stiles by the waist, tilts his head and open his mouth a little, and then everything just gets… hot.

It’s wet and filthy and there’s a tongue in his mouth that he’s starting to think should always be there. Derek’s hands make their way to Stiles’ hair and start pulling and it feels amazing and Stiles is making these needy little noises but he doesn’t even care because it’s all just so good.

Without thinking, he moves his hands to Derek’s ass and grabs it, rocking his hips forward at the same time. Derek moans against his mouth and it’s the single hottest thing Stiles has ever heard, so he rocks his hips again. This time Derek’s head falls to Stiles’ shoulder.

If Stiles wasn’t hard before, he is now. He continues to grind their hips together as Derek turns his head and drags his lips down Stiles’ neck. He pulls at the collar of Stiles’ shirt and bites into the base of his neck, then runs his tongue over it and starts sucking.

All of the sensations- his dick rubbing up against Derek’s hip, Derek’s mouth on his neck, the sounds he’s making- it’s all starting to be too much and Stiles is on the verge of coming in his pants.

He’s in the middle of trying to remember as many digits of pi as he can so that he won’t, when the door opens.

It’s Jackson.

Because of course it is.

Derek stills, then slowly pulls away from Stiles.

He turns to face Jackson who is staring at them like a disappointed parent who just caught their kid sneaking out.

Jackson shakes his head, says, “Next time, lock the door” and shuts it.

“Well, that could’ve been a lot worse,” Stiles says, rubbing at his chin.

He looks at Derek who is just staring at the ground.

“Guess I should just-,” Stiles says as he goes to lock the door.

Derek grabs Stiles’ wrist and says, “Don’t.”

He’s still staring at the ground, won’t even look Stiles in the eye. And sure, what just happened is kind of embarrassing but it’s not _that_ bad. Stiles has a hard time believing Derek, of all people, is this shy.

“I can’t do this,” Derek says, then walks out before Stiles can even ask what the hell is happening.

Stiles is left alone in the bathroom with a raging boner and a lot of questions.

Questions he would really like answers to.

He stays in there for about five minutes, waiting for his dick to calm the fuck down and trying to collect his thoughts, before he goes back out to the party. He scans the crowd but doesn’t see Derek anywhere so he goes down to the basement where everything’s already up and running again.

Derek isn’t there either.

“What the hell happened to you?” Danny asks from where he’s sitting at one of tables.

“What?” Stiles asks absently, distracted by Derek’s disappearance.

“You look like you just walked through the middle of a hurricane,” Mason says.

Stiles runs his hands through his hair and tries to come up with some explanation for why he looks so thoroughly debauched. He’s having trouble even focusing right now though because his brain is going _Derek, Derek, Derek._

“Oh, I, uh-”

“The middle of a hurricane is actually the calmest part of the storm,” Jackson says.

Everyone looks at him, stunned.

“Did Jackson just say something smart?” Danny teases.

Jackson shrugs. “I saw something on the Discovery Channel once.”

There’s some thoughtful hums and then everybody goes back to the game.

Jackson looks at Stiles- who’s staring at him in disbelief- and just rolls his eyes.

There’s the Jackson he knows and loathes.

Still, he appreciates it. Maybe Jackson isn’t a complete tool after all.

“Are you in, Stilinski?” Kira calls over to him from where she’s about to deal.

“Erica already took all my money,” he replies.

“I got you, buddy,” Scott says, scooting over so that Stiles can pull up a chair.

Stiles doesn’t really have a reason not to. Derek is obviously not here and he obviously doesn’t want to talk to Stiles. There’s not much he can do about it right now. He decides he’s not going to let another interrupted encounter with Derek ruin his fun so he pulls up a chair and takes the pile of chips Scott’s offering him.

He’ll deal with the Derek situation tomorrow.

\---

“Deal with” isn’t exactly how he handles the Derek situation. It’s more like obsess over.

He spends the entire weekend convincing himself that Derek wasn’t embarrassed about getting caught. He was embarrassed about getting caught _with Stiles_.

After Jackson came in, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at Stiles. He was ashamed.

Stiles can’t really blame him. Derek’s the not-president of Omega Chi and he’s the kind of guy people do a double take for when he walks by and Stiles is… well, he’s Stiles.

And okay, he can totally blame him. Stiles is a fucking catch and Derek would be lucky to have him. Even if just for a quickie hook-up in the bathroom at Kappa Tau.

Stiles may not look like his face was carved by the gods themselves and maybe he’ll never be able to achieve Derek’s level of stubble-perfection, but he’s physically appealing in his own right and he knows it, okay. He’s not afraid to admit he has beautiful eyelashes. And One Night Stand Guy wouldn’t stop talking about his mouth.

And he has things to offer. He’s a great conversationalist, which Derek might know if he ever stopped brooding and just _talked_ to Stiles. Plus, he’s pretty fucking funny. He even makes Boyd laugh sometimes and Boyd is like, the king of keeping a straight face. Stiles has made him laugh _at least_ four times. Five, if you count that time he laughed about Stiles hitting Derek in the face with a pledge paddle.

Which, okay, may be a reason Derek isn’t exactly thrilled to go at it with Stiles but that doesn’t mean he has to act like getting caught with him is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

Stiles may come off like an asshole- which he totally is most of the time- but he still has feelings. He’s still a person and Derek is kind of a douche for acting like he doesn’t matter.

By Monday, Stiles has convinced himself that the best thing to do is just forget about Derek and his perfect ass and the way he kissed Stiles like he needed it and the sounds he made when Stiles pulled their bodies together.

Yeah, he’s just going to forget all of that and focus on the way Derek said, “I can’t do this” and ran out of there in shame.

By Friday, Stiles is just pissed. There may have been a small part of him that thought (hoped, whatever) maybe Derek would seek him out and apologize; that he would have some great explanation for why he acted like such a tool, like maybe he’s secretly Spiderman and his spidey senses were tingling and he had to go save a kitten from a tree.

Or something.

But nope. It’s been a week since the party and Stiles hasn’t a heard a peep from Derek. Stiles would be hurt but hurt is an emotion he doesn’t do well with so he just pushes it down deep somewhere so that he’ll have another thing to talk about in therapy fifteen years from now, and instead gets angry.

Angry enough that he wishes he knew where Scott was keeping that pledge paddle so that he could hit Derek with it again. On purpose this time. Right in his stupid perfect face.

By the following week, Stiles is imagining using the pledge paddle in a different manner. One that still involves Derek but is much sexier and generally requires a safe word and would hopefully have Derek whimpering. And begging. There might also be handcuffs.

A week after that Stiles is mostly just resigned to the fact that what happened, happened and there’s nothing he can do about it now. He needs to just let it go; stop wasting any more time thinking about a guy who very clearly doesn’t want anything to do with him.

The fact that Stiles gets off thinking about a dark haired man with pale eyes panting into his neck and moaning against his skin doesn’t mean anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight outta GRΣΣK:
> 
> Gatsby themed prohibition party with a speakeasy


	4. Chapter 4

The day before Thanksgiving, Stiles and Scott meet up with Allison at the on-campus coffee shop. They’ve decided that since they, and a few of their friends, are staying on campus for the holiday, they’re going to do their own dinner. They just need to figure out where they’re going to do it.

They get their coffee and sit down at a table outside of the shop and Allison starts complaining about a huge paper she has due after the break. It’s not that Stiles doesn’t care that Allison has to write a paper, it’s just that-

No, it’s that Stiles doesn’t care.

He starts zoning out. He’s chewing on the lip of the cardboard cup he’s holding that’s filled with delicious pumpkin spice latte, trying to figure out who would win in a fight between one adult-sized polar bear and like, dozens of penguins.

The polar bear could obviously just swat and claw at the penguins and, you know, _eat_ them. One penguin, or even a handful of them, would be no match for a polar bear. But if there were hundreds of them, they could probably overtake the bear. Like just keep coming at it and attacking from all sides.

Penguins can be mean. Stiles has seen the videos. They are vicious little peckers. And when they do that thing where they sort of lift their arms (wings? or are they flippers? cause they are technically birds but they also swim and birds don’t swim with wings; he’ll have to wikipedia it later) so they lift their arm-wing-flippers and just start to run forward like they’re attacking and it’s kind of terrifying. And Stiles isn’t a polar bear but he thinks that if he was, that would freak him out and throw him off his game a little and then he’d be susceptible to the destructive pecking of the other penguins.

“Stiles?” Scott says, interrupting his thought process before he can start to think up scenarios in which a single polar bear would get displaced to the south pole so that it would even have to go up against a group (a flock? a school? a gaggle?) of penguins.

“Yeah, buddy,” he says, focusing back in on what’s going on.

“What do you think?” Scott asks.

“What do I think about wha-” 

That’s when he notices that Derek is standing there at the table. Stiles has no idea how long he’s been there but it’s probably been at least a few minutes because everyone is looking at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of answer. Presumably to whatever it is they’ve been discussing that he hasn’t been paying attention to.

“About doing dinner at the Omega Chi house tomorrow with Derek,” Scott prompts.

Oh. Thanksgiving with Derek. The guy who Stiles has spent the last three weeks trying not to think or care about. Perfect.

“Everyone else is going home. The house’ll be empty,” Derek says.

Derek is going to be alone on Thanksgiving unless they do the dinner at his place. Wonderful.

“A waddle of penguins,” Stiles says, remembering a documentary he saw and completely avoiding the subject of spending Thanksgiving with Derek.

Naturally, everyone furrows their eyebrows and looks at him like he’s speaking another language, one that they don’t understand.

Stiles scratches the back of his head. “A group of penguins is called a waddle.”

Everyone still looks confused.

He can’t avoid the subject forever and he can’t say that he doesn’t want to spend Thanksgiving with Derek because then he’d have to explain why and that’s a conversation he really doesn’t want to have.

With anyone.

Derek, especially.

Besides, it would be kind of shitty of him to make Derek spend Thanksgiving alone just because of some stupid kiss that happened at a party. Stiles is a big boy. He can be in the same room as Derek for a few hours. And there will probably be mashed potatoes so it won’t be all bad.

“Yeah, okay, let’s do dinner at the Omega Chi house,” he says.

He looks up to offer Derek a half-assed smile of reassurance and Derek looks… relieved. There’s a small smile playing at his lips, like Stiles agreeing to spend Thanksgiving with him is the best thing that’s happened all week.

It’s doing weird things to Stiles’ stomach.

“Great. So we’ll take care of the food. You just set the table,” Allison says to Derek.

“Sure. How many people?” Derek asks.

“Well, us three and you,” Allison replies. “Plus Isaac and Lydia.”

“And Jordan,” Stiles adds.

“Right,” Derek says. The smile is gone now. His lips are pulled tight in a thin line. He looks sort of angry. Maybe even disappointed.

Wasn’t he _just_ happy that they agreed to do the dinner at his place? What the hell changed from thirty seconds ago to now? Did he not expect there to be that many people? Is four people okay but seven too many? Does he not have enough place mats?

Okay, Stiles really needs to stop thinking about whether or not Derek is angry and why. It’s not his problem and caring won’t lead anywhere good.

Luckily, Derek seems to be done with this conversation.

“Be there at five,” he says curtly, before taking off.

After a minute, Scott looks at Stiles with an arched brow and asks, “Polar bear versus penguins?”

This is how Stiles knows Scott is his soulmate.

“Dude,” Stiles laughs.

“My money’s on the penguins,” Scott says, seriously.

Stiles gives him a fist bump because the penguins would totally win.

Allison just shakes her head and sips her coffee.

\---

Stiles spends the majority of Thanksgiving day alone in his dorm room, just sort of grumbling and muttering to himself about spending the evening with Derek. He has nothing to keep him distracted. Since a microwave is the only thing there is to cook with in the dorms, Scott and the girls are handling all the food. Stiles and Jordan were given drink duty, which took all of thirty minutes to take care of.

He’s not really sure where Isaac is. He hasn’t been spending much time in the dorms lately but Stiles assumes he’s either at the KT house helping Scott or at ZBZ helping the girls.

At ten to five, Jordan comes to his room and asks if he’s ready.

Stiles grumbles to himself some more, shoves his feet into some sneakers and pulls on a hoodie.

“Let’s get this over with,” he sighs, then picks up one of the brown paper bags with the drinks. Jordan picks up the other.

As they’re walking, Jordan asks, “So you don’t like Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t like forced social interactions,” Stiles replies. It’s kind of the truth.

“Ah,” Jordan nods, “but this one has food.”

Stiles thinks about that. He knows there won’t be turkey because they decided to do this last minute and there were no turkeys left at any of the stores but there will be other delicious food. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Yams. Cranberry sauce. Maybe even pie.

It’s a nice silver lining on a Derek Hale-filled day.

“I like the way you think,” Stiles decides.

When they get to Omega Chi, Stiles takes a deep breath in. He’s actually a little nervous and he’s pretty sure it’s because he still wants Derek to want him, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t.

“You okay?” Jordan asks him. He looks concerned.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Stiles assures him.

He presses the doorbell and listens as it echoes inside the house.

“Do I look okay?” he asks.

Only because it’s Thanksgiving. He should look nice on Thanksgiving. It’s a national holiday and people should look nice on national holidays.

Jordan arches an eyebrow.

“I mean, do I look, you know, would you-,” Stiles waves his free hand around trying to make Jordan understand what he’s asking.

He doesn’t.

“Would you check out my ass if I bent over?” Stiles throws out and that’s not really what he meant but it kind of is and he can’t take it back now so he just clenches his jaw and waits for Jordan to tell him to stop talking.

Jordan doesn’t tell him to stop talking, just gives him a once over and says, “I don’t know. You’re not really my type.”

Which, fair. But not helpful.

“Okay but does my ass at least look good in these pants?” he asks, turning a little so Jordan can see.

Jordan, wonderful man that he is, leans back a little to look.

“It’s a fine ass,” he says sincerely, still leaning back to evaluate it, at the same time as Derek opens the door, looking slightly horrified.

Excellent start to the evening.

Stiles runs a hand down his face in mortification but Jordan is completely unfazed.

“It’s a nice ass,” he looks to Derek for confirmation.

“Derek, you’ve met Jordan, right?” Stiles cuts in before discussion of his ass can go any further.

They shake hands and exchange pleasantries- Derek a little stiffly.

Now that the conversation has shifted away from the quality of Stiles’ assets, he notices that Derek is wearing a sweater.

With thumbholes.

He’s wearing a maroon sweater with thumbholes like he’s the coziest asshole on the planet and Stiles melts a little because: thumbholes.

He wants to wrap Derek up in a blanket and serve him hot chocolate with little marshmallows or something equally adorable but then he remembers that he hates Derek.

No, he doesn’t hate him. Hating him would mean that he has any feelings toward him at all, which he does not. No Derek-related feelings here. Just a vague acknowledgement that Derek is a person who exists and is currently existing in front of Stiles.

With thumbholes.

Stiles tries to ignore them and focus on what’s going on, which is Derek inviting them in and showing them to the kitchen so they can put the drinks in the fridge.

Nobody else is here yet which is less than ideal but thankfully Jordan seems to be blissfully unaware of the awkward tension and the way Derek keeps throwing tiny little glances at Stiles that range from irritated to angry to what look like sad and wounded.

Stiles has no idea what Derek’s problem is. Stiles is perfectly on time and he’s here with the supplies he said he’d bring. He didn’t show-up with an uninvited guest and he’s not the one wearing a stupid sweater with stupid thumbholes. He hasn’t even said or done anything worth getting upset over. He’s barely said anything at all.

The only other thing that Derek could possibly be upset over is Halloween and really, that’s just not fair. He let himself be pulled into the bathroom. He deepened the kiss. He added the tongue. Stiles may be the one who moved it below the belt but Derek didn’t exactly object. At least not until Jackson came in. And then Derek’s the one that left Stiles all alone in the bathroom. So from where Stiles is standing, if anybody should be upset here, it’s him.

Jordan is keeping the conversation going though, asking Derek all kinds of questions- about school, about Omega Chi, about where he’s from- which Derek is responding to with mostly monosyllabic answers.

At least Stiles isn’t the only one he’s a dick to.

Finally, the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of more people.

“I’ll get it,” Stiles shouts, eager.

He hurries to the front door and pulls it open to find everybody- Scott, Isaac, Lydia, and Allison- all carrying different size tupperware containers.

“Where the hell have you guys been?” Stiles says, happy to see them. He grabs a container that looks like it’s about to fall off of the tower Scott is balancing.

“We were cooking,” Allison says.

“Yeah and we’re only ten minutes late,” Scott adds.

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters,” Stiles says, stepping back so they can come in.

He leads them to the kitchen, where they start to dump the containers on the counters, and put a few in the fridge.

Jordan takes the containers Lydia’s been carrying and puts them on the counter for her, then leans down and kisses her on the cheek. He whispers something in her ear that makes her smile and wraps an arm around her waist. It’s cute. They’re cute.

Stiles is happy for them, even if he’s stuck spending Thanksgiving with Derek.

Derek, who is watching them like he’s confused by the very thought of two people being nice to one another.

He probably is. He seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t understand why people would waste their time having feelings and being pleasant around each other. He does seem to be allergic to smiling.

But not staring. He’s definitely not allergic to staring. He can’t take his eyes off Lydia and Jordan.

Interrupting the staring, Scott asks, “Derek, have you met Isaac yet?”

Derek pulls his eyes away from them slowly. “No, not yet. I’m Derek.”

Isaac gives him a nod.

“So, how do you all know each other?” Derek asks. He’s rubbing at his forehead with the tips of his fingers now, like he’s trying to figure something out but all Stiles can think is _thumbholes._

“Isaac and Stiles are roommates,” Allison says.

“And Stiles pledged Kappa Tau,” Scott adds.

“And you already know how we met,” Allison says, gesturing to Scott and Lydia.

“Mhmm,” Derek says, distracted. He’s still rubbing at his forehead. “And what about you, Jordan? How do you know everybody?”

“Oh, I’m their RA,” Jordan answers, nodding in the direction of Stiles and Isaac, from where he still has his arm around Lydia.

“You’re their RA,” Derek repeats and now he’s smiling. He looks happy and… loose. Well, looser. Like the stick finally fell out of his ass.

It’s jarring after all the brooding he’s been doing since they got here.

Stiles is starting to get emotional whiplash from Derek and his mood swings.

“So can we eat now? I’m starving,” Scott says.

Everyone murmurs in agreement and starts pulling the food out. Most of it’s still warm but some of it needs to be microwaved.

Stiles is at the table and shoveling food in his mouth before everyone else is even sitting down. Distantly he wonders if he should’ve waited, if maybe they’re supposed to say grace or go around listing off things they’re thankful for, but then Scott sits down next to him and starts eating too so he stops worrying about it.

Derek sits down across from Stiles and Stiles sighs internally. He purposefully picked a seat in the middle of the table, figuring Derek would sit at one of the ends and they could just avoid each other, but no. Derek had to go and choose the one right across from him.

Then everybody else starts filling in the rest of the seats around them, and digs into their food.

It’s delicious. Stiles doesn’t know who the genius is behind the food and he doesn’t really care. By the time he’s on his third helping he’s pretty much forgotten what was even bothering him or why he didn’t want to come in the first place.

He’s licking the last of the mashed potatoes and gravy off of his fork when he notices that Derek is watching him.

Watching his mouth to be exact.

Suddenly the room feels hot. He pulls the fork out of his mouth and licks his lips. Derek copies the movement, then brings his eyes back up to Stiles’.

Stiles coughs and looks away. He’s not falling into that trap again. He’s been down the eye contact road with Derek before and it didn’t lead anywhere good.

“Well, that was the best turkey-less Thanksgiving I’ve ever had,” he says, mostly as a way to distract himself.

“Oh, right,” Jordan says, remembering something and jumping to his feet. He goes into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon.

“Now I know you guys aren’t supposed to be drinking with the ban and all,” he says, “but I’m not in a fraternity and celebrating Thanksgiving without some turkey just feels wrong.”

Isaac holds his cup up. “I’m not in a fraternity.”

“Technically, we’re on vacation,” Allison hazards.

“Screw Harris!” Stiles and Scott say at the same time, then immediately turn and high-five each other.

Jordan starts to fill everyone’s cups and they decide they want to play a game. Derek looks for a board game that they can turn into a drinking one but the only games he can find are Clue! and Battleship.

Ultimately they all agree on “Never have I ever.”

They decide that taking a shot every time someone lists something they have done is way too much and instead agree to take a sip.

Lydia, who’s sitting to Derek’s right says, “I’ll go first. Never have I ever peed standing up.”

Everyone else, including Allison, takes a sip.

“What?” Allison says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “We used to go camping a lot.”

“Derek?” Lydia prompts.

“Never have I ever,” he says and looks directly at Scott, “broken the rules of Fight Club.”

“That was one time!” Scott protests, but he’s laughing. “We were fifteen!”

“Yeah, yeah drink up,” Derek tells him with a smirk and Scott takes a sip.

Sometimes Stiles forgets that they have a history. Scott doesn’t really ever talk about Derek but it’s clear from the way they’re joking right now that they used to be good friends, that they actually care about each other, maybe even miss each other.

“Never have I ever had sexual thoughts about the parent of someone in this room,” Isaac says, from his spot next to Derek.

Derek, Scott, and Lydia all bring their cups up.

“Hey,” Derek and Scott exclaim at the same time and everyone starts laughing.

“Whose parents do you know?” Stiles asks Lydia.

“Ugh, gross,” Allison groans from the other end of the table.

“He’s a powerful man, Allison,” Lydia says, unabashed.

Allison sighs and says, “Never have I ever used a fake accent.”

Stiles is the only one who takes a drink.

“Rush night,” he explains. “The house with the ceramic cats.”

Scott and Derek nod in understanding.

“Never have I ever held a gun,” Scott says.

Stiles, Parrish, and Allison drink.

“Never have I ever had a threesome,” Stiles says, eyeing Isaac and Allison where they sit across from Scott.

They both look down and take a sip and Stiles can see Scott do the same out of the corner of his eye. He high-fives himself, internally, on his detective skills. He knew there was something going on there.

“Really now?” Jordan asks Lydia and Stiles turns just in time to see her lift one shoulder and shrug.

“It happens. Your turn,” she says.

“Never have I ever,” Jordan says, thinking, “been the convenient option.”

Stiles takes a sip, thinking of the Halloween party, and watches as Derek does the same. Derek meets his gaze for a second before looking away.

Stiles looks to Lydia whose turn it is. She’s narrowing her eyes at him.

_What?_ he tries to convey with his eyebrows.

“Never have I ever gotten off thinking about someone in this room,” she says, her eyes still on him.

He lifts his cup under her scrutiny and almost misses that everyone else, including Derek, does the same.

“Mhmm,” she says, knowingly and takes a sip herself. “Your turn, Derek.”

“Never have I ever broken into the Student Recreation Center,” he says with a smirk, looking straight at Stiles.

“The door was unlocked!” Stiles squawks.

“I know,” Derek says and brings the cup to his lips. He keeps his eyes on Stiles as he drinks.

Stiles feels hot all over again. Derek is making it really hard for him to ignore or even be angry with. He’s being charming and he keeps looking at Stiles and he’s wearing that stupid sweater with the stupid thumbholes and Stiles wants to be able to just _not care_ but he can’t.

Because as infuriating as Derek is, he also has this way of making Stiles feel… powerful. And captivating. In a way nobody else ever has.

He looks at Stiles and it’s like he can’t look away. Or doesn’t want to. Like Stiles is the most interesting thing in the world.

Stiles has never had that before. Nobody has ever paid that kind of attention to him. It’s intoxicating and as much as Stiles says he wants it to stop, he really, really doesn’t.

Luckily, the game is still going so he can ignore that feeling a little while longer.

“Never have I ever been handcuffed,” Isaac says.

Jordan, Derek, Scott, and Stiles all take a drink. Nobody says anything but they all eye each other suspiciously.

“Never have I ever been handcuffed in bed,” Allison says and nobody takes a drink.

Again, they all eye each other suspiciously.

“Never have I ever been in the drunk tank,” Scott says.

Stiles is the only one to drink. Everyone’s staring at him with their eyebrows raised, judging him.

“You try getting caught drinking when you’re sixteen by your dad, who also happens to be the sheriff,” he says, affronted.

“Harsh, man,” Scott says, squeezing his shoulder.

Stiles nods solemnly, takes a second to recover from the memory, then shakes it out of his head.

Looking at Derek, he says, “Never have I ever broken into someone’s dorm room.”

In his periphery he sees Scott, Allison, and Lydia take a sip. He bites his bottom lip and watches as Derek narrows his eyes at him, brings his cup up and slowly takes a drink.

He’s not denying it.

Next to Stiles, Jordan says, “Never have I ever woken up in the wrong bed.”

Scott takes a drink and then immediately says, “Not like that!”

Everyone laughs.

Again, Lydia zeroes in on Stiles. “Never have I ever kissed someone in this room.”

Stiles raises his cup with everyone else. He can tell that everyone is silently wondering who’s kissed whom, besides the obvious, but nobody says anything.

Maybe him and Derek aren’t the only ones with a secret.

Derek clears his throat and says, “Never have I ever worn a speedo,” looking at Scott and Stiles poignantly.

“Hey, I rocked that speedo,” Stiles exclaims.

“Hell yeah you did,” Scott says as he takes a drink.

From there the game just devolves into continuous hysterical laughter until everyone’s pleasantly buzzed and their cups are empty.

After that they move to the living room to watch _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_ and then Stiles tries to convince them to marathon _Star Wars_ but he’s met with a resounding “No!” Instead they give into a _Batman_ marathon.

As Derek is pulling out the DVDs, Stiles let’s his eyes wander around the room. The last time he was here was rush night and it’s not like he paid much attention to the house then, apart from an initial cursory glance.

He tries to imagine Boyd and Derek hanging out in here, just relaxing and playing video games, the way he and Scott do at Kappa Tau. The image doesn’t really fit. It’s too proper in here. It’s the kind of place you could have tea with your grandparents, not chuck Cheetos at your friend’s head.

Over the fireplace there’s a huge wooden mantle that looks like it was carved from a thousand year old oak tree. It has all kinds of Omega Chi paraphernalia sitting on it- some trophies the house must have won, what looks like a framed picture of all the brothers, a tin cup that probably has something inscribed on it but Stiles is too far away to tell, a small slab of wood with the official Omega Chi seal on it that he’s definitely seen before-

“Hey, is that your pledge paddle?” he asks.

It can’t be. Stiles stole it and he knows they never found it. They must have more than one.

“What?” Derek asks, turning around to look at him, then follows his gaze to the paddle.

“What the hell,” he says, standing up and walks over to it.

Stiles looks at Scott who is staring up at the ceiling, very clearly biting back a smile.

“Dude,” Stiles says, in awe, “you hid it in their _house_?”

“Hid what?” Scott asks innocently but there’s still a smile fighting it’s way to his lips.

“Oh my god, that is _genius_ ,” Stiles laughs. “It’s the last place they’d ever look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Scott exclaims but he’s laughing now too.

Derek just shakes his head and says, “I hate you both,” which makes them laugh even harder.

Stiles must be drunker than he thought because it’s not even that funny but the harder Scott laughs, the harder Stiles laughs, which then makes Scott laugh even harder until they’re both laying on the floor clutching their sides and trying to catch their breath.

“I never even considered what would happen if you and Scott met when I told you not to rush,” Lydia says to Stiles, slightly exasperated by their hysterics.

“So why did you tell me not to rush?” Stiles asks, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“I thought you’d end up at Psi Phi Pi,” she replies.

“With Matt? Never,” he says, thinking about how Matt just shows up places and _watches_ , like a big old weirdo.

“The guy with the camera? What’s wrong with him?” Scott asks.

“He just creeps me out,” Stiles says, shuddering at the thought.

“He creeps you out?” Scott asks, blankly. He’s still laying on the floor next to Stiles.

“Yes, he creeps me out. He’s always just _there_ and watching and just generally being creepy. You know, I bet he’s D. Orestes.”

“You think the guy from Psi Phi Pi with a camera is the one who wrote the articles,” Scott asks. He’s looking at Stiles and his face says he’s unimpressed.

Stiles wishes he had a Cheeto to throw at him. Instead, he half-heartedly swats at him and says, “Yes. Now can we please watch some Batman.”

Derek puts _Batman Begins_ on, then turns the lights off and everyone get’s comfortable.

Isaac is sitting on one end of the couch, with his arm around Allison, who’s resting her head on his chest. Her feet are in Scott’s lap who’s sitting on the other end of the couch.

Lydia and Jordan are cuddling under a blanket on the love seat.

Derek’s sitting in a recliner and Stiles is sprawled across the floor in front of the coffee table. He doesn’t mind, though. He’s content right now.

Besides, _Batman_ is playing and the floor is just as good a place as any to laugh at Christian Bale’s inability to enunciate with the mask on.

At the end of _The Dark Knight_ Stiles gets up to pee. Everyone else has fallen asleep.

Isaac is slouched down and his arm is now around Scott who’s moved behind Allison, spooning her. It’s weird but they look comfortable, kind of peaceful.

Stiles decides that maybe Isaac isn’t the worst, even if he does still emote a vaguely homicidal vibe and own too many scarves.

Lydia’s head is resting on Jordan’s shoulder and Jordan’s head is resting on her head. Their necks are probably going to being killing them in the morning but Stiles is pretty sure that waking Lydia is like asking to be murdered and Stiles is completely sober now so that would probably hurt.

Derek has one elbow on the arm of the recliner, his head propped up by his fist. Even sleeping he looks a little tense and for a moment Stiles imagines what it would be like to see Derek just let go, but he forces himself to stop thinking about it and goes in search of the bathroom.

When he comes out, he walks straight into Derek.

“Sorry,” he says reflexively and takes a step back.

Derek doesn’t. There’s about a foot of space between them.

“I woke up and you were gone. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Derek says.

Stiles hooks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the bathroom. “Just had to pee.”

“Mmm,” Derek hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t move away.

“So-,” Stiles says, not really sure what to do. He starts chewing on his bottom lip.

“Hmm?” Derek’s looking at his mouth again. In fact, he looks completely entranced by Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles swallows and Derek’s eyes track the movement. He watches Derek’s chest rise and fall as he inhales, then exhales. It reminds him of how it felt when they were locked in the supply closet and Derek was breathing against his neck. He wonders if Derek smells like soap now too. He’s having trouble keeping his hands at his sides. His fingers are twitching as he tries to keep them from pulling Derek closer.

“Stiles,” Derek says, low. His eyes are back on Stiles’.

“Yeah?” Stiles breathes out, his voice shaky.

Derek doesn’t answer, just starts moving forward. Stiles moves back until he hits the wall. Derek moves right into his space, crowding him up against it, but doesn’t touch him, just puts his hands on the wall on either side of Stiles’ head.

His eyes keep flicking back and forth between Stiles’ mouth and eyes and he’s breathing hard, like he’s trying to restrain himself, like it’s taking all of his energy not to touch.

And Stiles knows there’s a reason they shouldn’t do this but right now he can’t remember what that reason is because up close like this he can tell that Derek does, in fact, smell like soap, and he remembers what Derek’s lips felt like on his and the way Derek’s body felt pressing into him and Derek must have way more self-control than he does because finally Stiles just breaks and surges forward to press his mouth against Derek’s.

Derek meets him and wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist. The kiss is every bit as hot as the first time. It’s hungry and wet and Derek is kissing him like he needs it, like he’s been waiting for it all night, maybe longer.

His hands find their way under Stiles’ shirt and his fingertips brush up against the skin of Stiles’ lower back, making him shiver at the touch.

Stiles knees get weak as Derek drags his fingers across his hips to his stomach, then hooks them in his jeans and pulls him off the wall, right up against him.

The sensation makes Stiles gasp, which Derek must like because he hums in approval, before reaching back around to cup his ass. He drags his mouth down Stiles’ jaw to his neck, his stubble scraping over sensitive skin in the best way possible.

Derek goes straight for the spot he bit into last time but Stiles’ hoodie is in the way, so he gets a hand between them and pulls the zipper down, then pushes the hoodie off Stiles’ shoulders and down to the floor.

He slides his fingers under the hem of Stiles’ shirt, then looks up, like he’s asking for permission so Stiles raises his arms up and let’s him pull it up over his head, watches Derek toss it to the floor before he looks back at Stiles.

His eyes graze over Stiles’ body and normally, Stiles would feel self-conscious having that much attention focused on his bare torso but right now, with Derek, he doesn’t. It’s the way Derek looks at him, like Stiles has all the power, like he’s something to behold.

Derek’s pupils are completely blown. Stiles watches as Derek takes a few deep breaths, like he’s trying to get himself under control. It’s a heady feeling, knowing he did that, makes him wonder what else he does to Derek, what else he could do.

He licks his lips, knowing Derek will track the movement, then reaches out and pulls Derek against him by his shirt. He wraps one hand around Derek’s hip, just under his shirt, then slides the other up Derek’s chest, his shoulder, the side of his neck, and around to the base of his skull. He scratches his fingers through the fine hairs there, watches as Derek’s eyes roll back, then rolls his hips forward once, twice, three times and Derek’s head falls to his shoulder with a moan, just like before.

Stiles continues to grind into him and run his fingers through his hair as Derek starts mouthing at the juncture between Stiles’ neck and shoulder. He bites down and the sensation of pain expanding into pleasure as it spreads through his body makes Stiles groan, deep in his throat, his head falling back against the wall.

Derek licks a line up the length of Stiles’ neck, stopping at his ear. He pauses there for a moment, just breathing, then, voice gravely, says “You make me crazy.”

And that, that goes straight to Stiles’ dick and he whimpers. Then he’s grabbing at Derek’s shirt and yanking it up, trying to get as little between them as possible. He gets it off and then his hands are everywhere.

Derek’s mouth is on his again and his hands are sliding down Stiles’ sides, dipping into his waistband. He drags them to the front and stops at the button.

“Can I?” he asks against Stiles’ mouth and _fuck_ like Stiles is going to say no.

He manages to make a noise that’s somewhere between a pant and a word and nods his head, which is apparently enough for Derek because he tugs at the button, then the zipper, and starts kissing down Stiles’ chest- the wet drag from his lips soothing the hot burn of his stubble.

Stiles watches as Derek kisses down his stomach- his breath making Stiles’ muscles jump- then down his happy trail.

When he gets to Stiles’ waistband, he looks back up at Stiles through his lashes and pulls Stiles’ pants down, boxers and all, causing Stiles’ already leaking dick to slap against his stomach, leaving behind a string of pre-come.

Then Derek is sliding his hands up Stiles’ thighs and mouthing at his hip and Stiles can’t look away. Derek, in front of him, on his knees, is the single hottest thing he’s ever seen.

He barely has time to register that this is actually happening before Derek licks a strip up the underside of his cock, then takes him all the way down, making him keen.

Stiles bites down on his fist, trying to keep quiet and concentrate on keeping his hips still so that he doesn’t choke Derek but it’s not that easy because Derek’s mouth is hot and wet and his head is bobbing up and down and it’s good. It’s so good and Stiles is not going to last very long. Especially not when Derek is moaning around his dick like that, like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, sending vibrations through him that he feels in his balls.

Then Derek gets his hands on Stiles’ hips and pulls them forward, like he _wants_ Stiles to fuck his face and that’s all it takes. Stiles is done. He yanks Derek’s hair in warning but Derek ignores it, taking him all the way down, sucking his orgasm right out of him, then pulls off with a pop.

Stiles watches as he swipes his thumb at the corner of his mouth, wiping away excess spit and come, then brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it off. It’s hotter than it has any right to be.Then Derek stands, pulling Stiles boxers and pants back up with him.

They’re face-to-face again but Stiles is having trouble forming any coherent thoughts. He’s out of breath and boneless and he feels good, so good, but he’s also itching to get his hands back on Derek- to make Derek feel the same.

“Your turn,” he pants, still breathless. “What- what do you want?”

Derek grins with a devilish look in his eye. “Think you can get it up again?”

Stiles eyes go wide. He was not expecting that.

“I want you to fuck me,” Derek says and Stiles’ dick twitches, very interested. He’s never been more grateful to be a nineteen year old with a seemingly endless supply of jizz.

“I- yes. I can do that,” he nods enthusiastically.

Derek smiles, picks up their discarded shirts, and leads Stiles to his bedroom.

When they get there, Derek throws their shirts on the floor, closes the door and herds Stiles up against it.

Stiles likes Derek like this-like he needs Stiles, like he can’t hold himself back.

He grabs two handfuls of Derek’s ass and grins. “Less clothes.”

Derek leans in and kisses him, deep, makes him breathless all over again. “Okay.”

Then he backs away and starts unbuttoning his pants.

“Asshole,” Stiles says, no heat behind it, then follows Derek’s lead lead and shucks his clothes.

Derek walks over to the dresser, naked, and Stiles takes a moment to appreciate his spectacular ass. It’s probably the best ass Stiles has ever seen. Not that he’s seen a lot of asses, at least not outside of porn, but still. It’s phenomenal, really. It should be in a museum somewhere. But not until after Stiles is done with it.

Derek turns around and now Stiles is staring at his cock- his thick, dripping, uncut cock- which Derek is stroking lightly, pushing the foreskin over the head, then pulling it back-

and _fuck_ , Stiles no longer has any doubts about his thoughts on foreskin. He is definitely pro-foreskin.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

Stiles manages to tear his eyes away from Derek’s cock and nod. “Mhmm.”

He follows Derek over to the bed and watches Derek pull the comforter all the way down, then set a small bottle of lube and a condom down on the sheets.

“So how do you want to do this?” Stiles asks, feeling virginal. He’s had sex before, been inside someone before, but most of his experience was with Heather and this is not the same thing. And One Night Stand Guy let Stiles fuck him but he prepped himself and then just let Stiles slide right in. There wasn’t much to figure out. All Stiles had to do was thrust.

But that’s not what he wants to do with Derek. Stiles wants to get his fingers in Derek, wants to open him up slowly, have Derek whining and begging for more. He wants to make Derek feel good.

He wants to take Derek apart.

“Looks like you’ve already decided,” Derek says. It doesn’t sound like an accusation though. It sounds like a question, like he’s waiting for Stiles to tell him what to do. Like he’s _giving_ Stiles all the power.

Stiles swallows. “On your stomach,” he nods to the bed.

Derek obeys. He grabs a pillow, puts it under his hips and lays down on his stomach; then, looks back over his shoulder at Stiles, waiting.

Stiles is nervous. He’s never opened anyone up but himself before. But he can do this. He’s done more than enough research in preparation for this moment. He’s watched porn, done some reading, practiced on himself. He _can_ do this.

Derek gave him all the power.

He’s going to make Derek beg.

He kneels down behind Derek on the bed, caps open the bottle of lube and slicks his fingers up.

He can do this.

He puts his left palm at the bottom of Derek’s back, then drags it down the swell of his ass and squeezes. Derek hums in approval.

He _wants_ to do this.

He trails his right fingers, slicked with lube, down the crack of Derek’s ass, then circles his hole.

At first, Derek clenches a little, then begins to ease his muscles.

Stiles keeps circling one finger around the rim, first in a wide circle, then smaller and smaller until he’s basically just pressing down on the opening and Derek is pushing back against him.

He dips his finger in, shallow, then pulls it back out and starts circling again, before dipping back in a little further. He does it a few more times until he’s knuckle deep and can hear Derek panting.

He works his finger in and out of Derek, dragging his knuckle along Derek’s rim, until there’s no more resistance; then, works a second one in.

When he’s got two fingers all the way in, he twists them up and Derek _keens_ so Stiles does it again. And again. And again.

Derek is trembling and shallowly grinding against the pillow but Stiles is on a mission here. He doesn’t just want this to be good for Derek, he wants this to be mind-blowing.

He pulls both fingers out and Derek whimpers, before he presses back in with three.

It’s tight, really tight, and he doesn’t want to hurt Derek, so instead of working them in and out, he crooks them and drags his fingertips along what he’s pretty sure is Derek’s prostate- if the noises he makes and the way his muscles convulse are anything to go by.

In no time at all, Derek adjusts to his fingers and starts pushing back into Stiles so Stiles pulls them out slowly, then pushes them back in. He can tell Derek wants more but he’s determined to make him beg for it so he continues to do it as slow as he possibly can.

“Stiles,” Derek whines.

But Stiles is a little shit and he’s enjoying the hell out of this- his dick already hard and leaking again- so he just says, “Yes?” then bends down and skirts his tongue around Derek’s rim where his fingers are still moving in and out slowly.

Derek whimpers, needy. “ _Fuck_. Stiles, fuck me, please.”

The way Derek’s voice breaks on _please_ does it for Stiles. He pulls his fingers out and fumbles for the condom, rolls it on without any finesse whatsoever and slicks his dick up with the leftover lube still in his palm.

He lines his hips up with Derek’s and guides his cock to Derek’s hole, pressing against it.

“Ready?” he breathes out and Derek nods.

Stiles grips Derek’s hips and begins pressing in slowly, as slowly as he can manage. He watches as his cock disappears into Derek and he’s grateful, so grateful, that Derek already made him come or he’d blow his load right now.

When he’s bottomed out, he stays there, trying not to move at all, letting Derek adjust to him. It’s not easy. Derek is enveloping him in tight heat and Stiles just wants to _take_.

When Derek starts circling his hips trying to get some friction, Stiles leans forward, one hand on either side of Derek, presses a kiss to his shoulder, then starts rolling his hips slowly.

Derek makes a low sound, deep in throat and cants his hips back to meet Stiles’. It has Stiles biting his lip, trying not to lose it.

He picks up the pace and watches as Derek clutches at the sheets, then realizes this isn’t good enough. Derek needs to be exploding with pleasure all over his body. He needs a better angle.

He pulls out and Derek whimpers, looking over his shoulder to see what Stiles is doing.

Stiles taps the side of Derek’s thigh and says, “On your knees.”

Derek complies, shifting to his knees and elbows.

Stiles lines up and thrusts back in, not bothering to go slow this time. He grips at Derek’s hips and pulls him back against his cock as he pushes forward.

Stiles can see him clutching at the sheets again. He’s saying Stiles’ name over and over again on choked off sobs. 

Stiles slides his hands down the swell of Derek’s ass and squeezes, watches as his cock goes in and out of Derek. Heat’s pooling low in his stomach and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

He reaches around and gets a hand around Derek and starts pumping in sync with his thrusts, which are becoming more and more erratic. He’s about to come but he wants to hold off as long as he can, wants to hear Derek’s choked off sobs for as long as possible. He bites into Derek’s shoulder, and Derek goes quiet, still, tightening around him and he feels Derek’s cock pulsate in his hand, come spilling out of it.

That’s all it takes to punch Stiles’ orgasm out of him. He comes his brains out with a half-formed word on his tongue and collapses against Derek.

It feels like every bone in his body just shot out of his dick but it’s not a bad feeling.

As soon as he can muster the energy, he pulls out and rolls off of Derek onto his back.

He’s still breathing heavy and his skin is still vibrating. That was the most intense orgasm he’s ever had. He looks over at Derek, who’s already looking back at him, smile playing on his lips.

“Good?” Derek asks.

Stiles nods, still out of breath. “You?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. He’s full on grinning now and he looks completely at ease. There’s no tension in him at all.

Stiles reaches out and runs a finger along one of his eyebrows.

Derek catches his wrist and brings Stiles’ hand to his mouth, kisses his knuckles. He keeps Stiles’ fingers against his lips for a few minutes, then says, “I’m gonna get cleaned up.” He gets up and heads to the bathroom.

Stiles stands up; then pulls the condom off, tying it and throwing it in the trash by Derek’s desk. He finds his boxers and pulls them on, then collapses back on the bed, making sure to avoid the wet spot. He’s out by the time Derek get’s back.

\---

Stiles wakes to hair tickling his nose. He pushes his face forward to rub his nose against the pillow and realizes it’s not a pillow.

It’s Derek.

Stiles’ body is wrapped around Derek’s- his chest to Derek’s back- and he’s _hard._ He hasn’t woken up this hard since he was in high school.

He’s not really sure what to do. It’d probably be weird to get up and go rub one out in Derek’s bathroom and he’s really comfortable. Like _so_ comfortable. And warm. Plus, there’s barely any light filtering in through the window. It can’t be later than six. Way too early to get up.

He decides he’s just going to ignore it and go back to sleep. He sighs and buries his face in the back of Derek’s neck and tries to fall back into sleep.

He’s just drifting off when he realizes that he’s moving his hips in small circles and mouthing at Derek’s shoulder. He stops, abruptly- ready to pull away- but the friction doesn’t stop. Derek’s grinding his ass back into Stiles.

Stiles thrusts his hips forward with intent, testing, and Derek moans, deep in his throat, so he settles back in and starts moving with him, trails his hand down Derek’s stomach to his waistband, then dips in. He gets a hand around Derek- already hard- and tugs once, twice, then starts stroking in time to his thrusts.

Derek reaches back, grabs Stiles’ ass and pulls their bodies closer for a beat. Then he starts yanking on Stiles’ boxers, until Stiles helps pull them down to his knees.

Derek shimmies his own underwear down to his knees, then grabs the lube that’s still next to the bed. He gets some in his palm, reaches back and wraps his hand around Stiles, slicking him up. The wet heat from Derek’s hand has Stiles biting at his shoulder.

Derek angles Stiles’ cock down so that it slides between his thighs, then starts moving his hips. It feels amazing. It’s hot and tight and the friction is so good.

It’s the best way to wake up.

Stiles starts rocking forward, matching his thrusts. He gets his hand back around Derek and starts pumping.

The head of his cock keeps hitting the back of Derek’s balls and he’s making these broken little noises, fucking _mewling_ , but he doesn’t care because it feels so good and he can feel Derek getting closer and closer, feels when Derek’s balls tighten and his orgasm pulses through his cock.

It only takes Stiles a few more thrusts before he’s coming right between Derek’s thighs. He’d feel bad about it but it’s hard to feel anything but _fucking amazing_ after an orgasm like that first thing in the morning.

“Sorry, dude,” he says half-heartedly and pulls away.

Derek grunts in acknowledgement but doesn’t really seem to mind.

Once blood starts flowing back into the rest of Stiles’ body, he says “I’ll go get something.”

He goes to the bathroom- not bothering to cover himself up- and rifles through the drawers. He finds a washcloth and wipes himself off, then brings it back to the bedroom for Derek.

Derek’s already half asleep again- his boxer-briefs kicked off completely- so he wipes Derek off himself as best he can; then pulls the blankets back up over Derek.

He looks around for some place to put the dirty cloth and finds the hamper in the closet.

Hanging on the back of the closet door is a red tie- the one Derek wore to the Halloween party at Kappa Tau. It hits Stiles like a well-aimed punch.

Derek ran out on Stiles before. Because he was ashamed to be caught with him.

There’s no reason to think anything’s changed. Last night probably only happened because no one was around to witness it. All of the Omega Chis are out of town and the only other people in the house were asleep.

Derek may like kissing Stiles, he may like getting off with him, but he doesn’t want to be seen with Stiles and that’s not okay.

Stiles isn’t going to be anyone’s dirty little secret. He’s better than that, deserves better than that.

Sighing, he pulls on his clothes. He’s not really mad at Derek. It’s not like Derek lied to him or tricked him. He didn’t even use him really. Technically, Stiles got something out of it too and it’s not like Derek told him this was something it wasn’t.

The only thing he said at all about it was that he wanted Stiles to fuck him, which happened. And that was that.

The thing is, though, that last night Derek made him feel wanted, like he mattered. And not just when they were having sex. The whole night. He looked at Stiles, paid attention to him, _focused_ on him. And he was charming and there was flirting- Stiles really enjoyed the flirting.

And he had to go and wear that stupid sweater with the stupid thumbholes and look like the most adorable asshole in the world; make Stiles want to scoop him up and fucking _cuddle_ him, make Stiles want more from him than just sex.

It was good sex, the best Stiles has ever had but even if Derek did want to keep sleeping with him once all his brothers were back in town, Stiles couldn’t do it. It would just be a friends (or whatever the hell they are) with benefits situation and that’s not enough.

If it were anybody else, Stiles could probably do it. But not with Derek. There’s no point in denying that he has feelings- _real_ feelings- for Derek now and he’d rather have none of Derek than just scraps.

Once he’s dressed and his shoes are on, he slips out of the room quietly. He purposefully doesn’t look back at Derek, knowing that if he does, he won’t be able to leave. Seeing Derek sleeping like that, knowing that this is probably the only chance he’ll get to wake up with him again- he can’t do that to himself. He won’t.

Jordan and Lydia are already gone so he’s not too worried about not being here when the rest of them wake up.

It’s cold out- the sun hasn’t been up long enough to heat the morning air- so he power walks back to the dorm. When he gets there he doesn’t even bother taking any of his clothes off, not even his shoes, and climbs straight into bed.

He pulls the covers over his head and creates a cocoon of warmth. He knows he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and if Stiles was the kind of person who cried, there’d be tears falling down his face right now.

Why did he have to go and fall for Derek Hale?

\---

Stiles stays in bed all day and by the time it’s dark outside, he’s actually starting to feel sick. His nose is running and there’s a tickle in his throat.

At some point Isaac shows up but when he sees the pile of tissues building next to Stiles’ bed, he stuffs some clothes in his backpack and gets the hell out of there.

Stiles doesn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to be here either.

Around ten, he checks his phone. There are a few missed calls from a number he doesn’t recognize and a text from Scott asking if he’s okay. Stiles shoots back a quick text

**Fine. Just have a cold. :(**

Scott tells him to get better and then Stiles’ phone dies. He doesn’t bother charging it.

By the morning, Stiles feels like death came and slapped him across the face. His entire body aches and he’s freezing. He’s wearing sweats, a long sleeve shirt, and a hoodie and he’s wrapped in several blankets but it’s not enough.

He can’t breathe through his nose- it’s completely stuffed- and every time he tries to breathe through his mouth, the air tickles his throat and he starts coughing. Which is starting to hurt his ribs.

His nose is red from blowing and it stings whenever he brings a tissue to it.

He knows he should probably take some medicine and get some food, probably drink something too, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up and get anything. All he has in his dorm are some water bottles and a box of breakfast bars. He ate one last night but his stomach turns at the thought of trying to get one down today.

He decides just to try and go back to sleep, hoping that he’ll wake up feeling better, strong enough to make it to the common area where there’s vending machines.

Around noon, there’s a knock at his door. He doesn’t exactly feel like visitors and pretty much everyone he knows it out of town. The only people still in town that he knows probably already know he’s sick so they wouldn’t be here. He tries to ignore the knocking but it doesn’t stop.

He wants to just yell, “Go away” but he doesn’t think he can muster the energy to yell loud enough and even if he could, it probably wouldn’t feel great.

Groaning, he forces himself to get up. He pulls a blanket over his head like a hood and wraps it around him, clutching it to his chest, then heads for the door.

It takes him more time than it should.

The knocking is a constant _pound pound pound_ now and by the time he gets to the door he can hear someone talking through it. It sounds like they’re saying, “Open up, Stiles.”

His ears must be blocked too though because it’s ridiculously muffled and he can’t recognize the voice, though he obviously knows them- they’re saying his name.

He pulls the door open and comes face to face with Derek.

Derek, with a backpack hooked over one shoulder, holding a brown paper bag.

Derek’s face is full of what looks like concern and it only gets worse when Stiles starts shivering, away from the warmth of the blanket cocoon he made in his bed.

Derek brings his hand up to Stiles’ forehead, then cups his cheek. “Jesus, Stiles.”

Stiles shudders as a chill shoots through his body and Derek pulls him close, wraps his free arm around Stiles’ body. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

Stiles is too weak to ask what Derek’s doing here, doesn’t really care at the moment. Derek’s warm and Stiles doesn’t want to move away from the heat of his body.

Derek walks Stiles back towards the bed, kicking the door closed behind him, with his arm wrapped tight around Stiles keeping him close to his body and steadying him. When they get to the bed, he helps Stiles get back in his cocoon, then starts rifling through his backpack.

Stiles stops watching, too tired to keep his eyes open, but then Derek is nudging him and saying, “Take these.”

He’s holding out his palm with two little pills in it and Stiles doesn’t even think to ask what they are, just opens his mouth so Derek can put them in. Then Derek brings a cup of water up to Stiles’ lips and Stiles swallows the pills down.

He must fall asleep after that because the next thing he knows, it’s dark out. His face is smooshed up against Derek’s ribcage and Derek’s arm is wrapped around him.

He’s reading what looks likes a text book, propped up by his knee.

Stiles starts coughing and Derek puts the book down to hand him a cup of water, all while rubbing Stiles’ back soothingly.

Once Stiles stops coughing and the cup is back on the table, Derek asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Stiles croaks and burrows back into the bed, up against Derek, trying to leech his warmth.

“I can see that.”

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, muffled by the blankets and Derek’s side.

“I tried calling but you didn’t answer. Scott said you were sick so I came to bring you soup and make sure you were okay.”

“Soup?” Stiles asks. He’s not feeling as awful as he was this morning and he hasn’t eaten anything since last night. Soup sounds pretty good.

“Yeah,” Derek replies, “On the way here I stopped by the cafe on Third.”

Stiles perks up at that. The cafe on Third makes the best soup.

“It’s cold now but I can go heat it up if you want,” Derek says.

Stiles nods and Derek gets up to go heat the soup in the microwave down the hall. Stiles mourns the loss of heat and pulls the blankets around him tighter.

He knows there’s some questions he should probably be asking about why Derek brought him soup but he can’t bring himself to care right now. He may be feeling marginally better than he was this morning but he still feels like hell and the only thing he can bring himself to care about is getting warm.

And the promise of soup.

Derek comes back holding one of those microwavable to-go containers and there’s steam billowing off the top. “It’s hot.”

Stiles tries to sit up but it’s just so much work. He groans, thinking that maybe he’s not going to get to eat the soup after all but then Derek is there pulling him up into a sitting position. He slides behind Stiles, against the wall- one leg on either side of him- and let’s Stiles lean back against him.

It’s warm and Stiles doesn’t have to use any of his energy holding himself up. Derek even holds the plastic bowl for him.

The soup feels good in his stomach, though he can’t really taste it.

When he’s done Derek reaches over and sets the container on the table next to the bed. He pulls out two more pills- Stiles doesn’t even know where from- and tells Stiles to take them, which he does.

He wraps his arms around Stiles and holds him tight, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Stiles’ arms. He kisses his temple and starts murmuring something into Stiles’ hair.

Stiles has no idea what he’s saying but it’s all so cloyingly sweet, there’s so much affection, that a tear rolls down his cheek.

Being sick has always made him emotional. It fucks with his head and he doesn’t know why Derek’s here, doesn’t know why Derek’s being so nice to him but right now he doesn’t care.

He shifts to his side so that he can bury his face in Derek’s neck and Derek lets him, starts running his fingers through Stiles’ hair, soothing him.

The next couple of days pass in pretty much the same fashion, with Derek only leaving to pick up supplies. And to take showers, Stiles assumes. He’s not really sure because he’s asleep for most of it and when he’s awake, he’s kind of out of it.

Tuesday afternoon when he wakes up, Derek isn’t there. Stiles vaguely remembers Derek saying something about a test in one of his classes though so he figures that’s where he is.

Stiles is feeling about a thousand times better than he has in days. He didn’t wake up coughing and he can actually breath. His nose is completely clear and he’s not really cold anymore.

He sits up and looks around the room, expecting it to be a disaster but it’s not that bad. There’s still a cup of water next to the bed and the trash can is on the floor by the bed, filled with tissues, but that’s about it. The rest of the room is fine.

Stiles, however, is not. He’s disgusting. He hasn’t taken a shower or brushed his teeth in days. He’s not wearing the same clothes he was when Derek first got here but he honestly doesn’t remember changing so he has no idea how long he’s been in these. His hair is matted down from sweat.

It’s not pretty.

Stiles decides that his number one priority today is to take a shower and brush his teeth. Then he’ll worry about dealing with everything else, like emailing his professors about the classes he’s already missed.

He grabs a change of clothes and his bathroom tote and heads to the bathroom. The first thing he does is brush his teeth because _ew_ , his mouth is disgusting. He can practically taste the germs swimming around in there.

Then he hops into the shower, already feeling like a new person. The shower feels amazing and he stays under the water even after he’s rinsed all the soap off. He starts thinking about Derek- what happened on Thanksgiving, how Derek showed up at his door, how he keeps coming back. It doesn’t make sense.

Sure, none of Derek’s friends see him here with Stiles, but it’s not like Derek is getting anything out of this. He’s sure as hell not getting any sex. Or maybe he thinks that he will once Stiles isn’t sick anymore.

It’s a possibility but it doesn’t seem right. Derek doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to do that.

Stiles stays under the water, trying to figure Derek out, until it starts to lose heat.

He shuts the water off and dries off as best as he can, then puts his clothes on. His skin is still damp and they cling to him, which he hates, but he’s still feeling a million times better than he did when he came in here.

When he gets back to his room, Derek is there, making the bed with clean sheets and a comforter that isn’t Stiles’. The dirty linens from Stiles’ bed are stuffed into a large, mesh laundry bag on the floor.

“You look good,” Derek says and Stiles just stands in the doorway, staring, unable to comprehend anything that is happening or has happened over the last several days.

“I wasn’t stealing your blankets,” Derek says. “I was just going to wash them for you. I swear.”

Derek’s doing that thing again- being nice and making Stiles want him to stay, making Stiles want _him_. It’s not fair and now that Stiles isn’t on the verge of death, he knows it’s too much. Derek can’t keep doing this to him.

“What the hell are you doing, Derek?”

“Uh, I just told-”

“ _No_. What are you doing _here_? Why are you being so nice to me?” Stiles asks, flailing his arms a little.

Derek furrows his eyebrows. “Do you not want me to be nice?”

“No!” Stiles shouts and this time he definitely flails. “Not when you’re just going to run off again and leave me standing here all alone like an idiot.”

“I’m not going anywhere else, Stiles,” Derek says, looking confused. “I had to take a test today but I can skip the rest of my classes this week and I can wait to wash this stuff until you fall asleep if you want.”

He looks so earnest, like he’d do anything Stiles asked him to and that’s the problem. That’s the _fucking_ problem. He keeps making Stiles feel like he matters, like he matters to Derek and Stiles can’t- he just can’t.

His shoulders sag and he drops his head forward, trying to figure out how to explain this to Derek but Derek comes over to him, wraps one arm around Stiles’ waist, cups his jaw with the other, says, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you need to lie down?”

“No, Derek,” Stiles laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “I need you to stop because I can’t be your dirty little secret or your fuck buddy or whatever it is you want. I can’t do it.”

Derek stills, then drops his hand from Stiles face and slowly pulls away. He’s looking at the ground, working his jaw, like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

When he looks back up at Stiles, the only thing on his face is _hurt_. “I don’t want to be just your fuck buddy, Stiles. That’s not enough for me.”

Stiles doesn’t know how to respond to that, mostly because he’s not sure what Derek is even saying, so he just stares, waiting for Derek to say something else.

“I don’t know what you think I’ve been doing here,” he says, “but I wasn’t trying to get in your pants. I just wanted to take care of you.”

Stiles tries to process that but the only thing he can come up with doesn’t make any sense. Still, he needs to know. “Are you saying you want to be with me?”

The look of vulnerability on Derek’s face at that almost takes Stiles’ breath away. Derek nods once. It’s so minute that Stiles almost misses it.

“Yes,” Derek says softly, almost a whisper, then clears his throat and says, louder, “I haven’t really been able to stop thinking about you since you caught me at the Rec Center trespassing.” There’s a soft smile playing at his lips now.

“Then why the hell did you leave me alone in the bathroom on Halloween?” Stiles asks, incredulous, but there’s hope bubbling in his chest now.

Derek scrunches his face up at that and rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, I thought you were with Jordan.”

Which, _what_?

“I didn’t want to be the other guy,” Derek says.

And now Stiles gets it. Derek saw him at the homecoming party with Jordan and again at the Halloween party and then they showed up together on Thanksgiving and Derek was just trying to be a good guy. He wasn’t ashamed of Stiles. He wanted Stiles.

He _wants_ Stiles.

“Oh my god, come here,” Stiles says and grabs Derek’s face.

He kisses him with everything he has, pours all of himself into it. “You’re an idiot,” he says against his mouth, then wraps his arms around Derek’s neck.

Derek backs him up to shut the door, pushes him up against it. His hands make their way under Stiles’ shirt and clutch at his hips, like he’s afraid to let Stiles go. He rolls his hips forward and Stiles groans, his dick already getting hard.

“Fuck, Derek. I want you so bad.” He rolls his hips to meet Derek’s, “but I don’t think I have enough energy to do this right.”

Derek kisses down Stiles’ jaw to his neck. “What if I do all the work?” he says into Stiles’ skin.

Stiles’ dick jumps at that. “That could work.”

Derek leads him back to the bed, stripping him as they go. He lowers Stiles’ naked body onto the bed, then strips off his own clothes. “Lube?”

Stiles motions to the bedside table. “In the drawer.”

Derek pulls out the lube and a condom. Apparently he’s _really_ going to do this.

Derek straddles Stiles while he slicks up his fingers, then reaches back and starts opening himself up. Stiles doesn’t have a good view from this angle but the wet noise of Derek’s fingers sliding in and out of himself is enough to get Stiles’ cock dripping with pre-come.

Derek opens himself up much faster than Stiles did and before he knows it, Derek is rolling a condom on Stiles and kneeling over his cock, angling it up, so he can sink down onto it.

When he bottoms out, he bends down and kisses Stiles, licks into his mouth and then starts moving his hips and it’s good. It’s so good. Stiles wants to stay in him forever.

He grabs at Derek’s ass, then slides his hands down Derek’s thighs, feeling the muscles work as Derek fucks himself on Stiles’ cock over and over again.

Derek’s panting into his neck and Stiles isn’t sure which one of them is making all the noise- maybe both of them but he doesn’t care. The sound of Derek’s ass slapping against his thighs and the wet slick noises from the lube are pushing Stiles’ to the edge. It’s filthy and he loves it.

He comes with a shout, clutching at Derek’s thighs and Derek fucks him through it. When it gets too sensitive, Stiles’ whines and Derek stops moving, reaches back to hold the condom in place while he pulls off.

Then he’s kneeling over Stiles, working his fist up and down his cock. Stiles watches, mesmerized by the way his hand slides back and forth with ease. Stiles wants to get his mouth around it and promises himself he’ll make it happen in the near future.

Derek speeds up his stroke, close, and Stiles reaches back, runs his fingers over Derek’s hole- still loose and wet from Stiles’ cock. He dips two fingers in and Derek shoots his load all over Stiles’ chest, then shakes through the aftershock.

Stiles pulls his fingers out and they make the most obscene popping sound.

“I think you’re trying to kill me,” he croaks, completely blissed out.

Derek bends down and presses a kiss to his lips. “Never,” he says against Stiles’ cheek, then gets up to wipe them off with a tissue and throw the condom away.

He’s just settling back onto the bed, getting under the covers with Stiles when the door opens.

It’s Isaac and Scott.

“Really?” Isaac groans at the same time as Scott says, “I knew it!”

“Uh, hey guys, what’s up?” Stiles asks, reflexively pulling the covers up a little higher. He’s not exactly embarrassed to be caught naked in bed with someone, especially not with Derek (and looking completely fucked out, he assumes, given the way Derek looks), but it’s only polite to try and cover up your junk.

Derek, on the other hand, seems to be completely fine free-balling it under the covers next to Stiles. It’s a nice change from his reaction to being caught on Halloween. A _really_ nice change.

“I just came to tell you that Danny hacked into the newspaper’s server, and you were right,” Scott says, sitting on Isaac’s bed. “Matt is D. Orestes but that’s not important. Tell me about you two. When’s the wedding and whose best man am I?”

“Mine,” Derek and Stiles say at the same time, then look at each other, incredulous.

Then Stiles smiles, realizing that neither of them denied there’s going to be a wedding, and pulls Derek in for a kiss, forgetting that Scott and Isaac are there.

Derek hums against his lips and Isaac says, “Can you at least wait till we’re gone?”

“Sorry,” Stiles says and then his brain catches up with him.

“Wait, it _was_ Matt! I knew it!” he shouts and Scott starts laughing.

“Yeah, you totally called it,” he says. “Psi Phi Pi deactivated him today. There’s not going to be any more articles. The probation should be over by the time spring semester starts.”

“This is the best day ever,” Stiles says.

“Yeah, well you can celebrate for the rest of the night but I’m coming back tomorrow,” Isaac says, stuffing a change of clothes into his backpack. He heads for the door and Scott follows.

Just before Scott closes the door behind him, he says, “You better be using protection or we’re going to have a serious talk.”

Then they’re gone.

Stiles and Derek stare after them for a moment and then, as if just noticing, Derek says, “Why the hell are there so many scarves in here?”

That’s the first time Stiles knows there’s going to be a wedding.

The second time is three days later when Derek is the one in bed hacking up a lung, with snot dripping from his nose, and all Stiles can manage to do is slap some Vicks VapoRub on his chest and sing “Soft Kitty” while patting his head from afar (sick people are so gross) and Derek doesn’t dump him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polar bear vs penguins, Wild Turkey Thanksgivings, and being a super emotional sick person are all straight outta my life.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Vague mention of past Kate/Derek- There's an article written claiming that when Kate was a senior and Derek was a freshman at BHU she seduced him in order to get special privileges for her sorority. Other than that, the only mention of it is Lydia confirming to Stiles that Derek was Kate's "play thing."
> 
> Minor instance of violence- Stiles hits Derek in the face with a pledge paddle (on accident, kind of).
> 
> Possible dub-con via consumption of alcohol- Stiles consumes some alcoholic beverages before a fully-clothed hook-up in a bathroom (as far as I'm concerned, Stiles and Derek are completely sober/consenting for every sexual activity they engage in together but still- warnings are always nice).
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on [tumblr!](http://pickasalvatore.tumblr.com/) Come say hi!


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